Comes the Thaw
by Coffee-Flavored Fate
Summary: Whether through the death of Winter, the warmth of the sun, or just a change in climate or season, all ice has to melt sometime. Rating subject to change. Romano S. Italy & America.
1. On the Rocks

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. **

_**Warnings:** This is basically an attempt to overcome writer's block and demotivation. Yet another failed attempt to write a one-shot (which is to say...this was supposed to be a one-shot, but will be chaptered). I'm basically going to use this fic as a 'junk drawer' for combating writer'__s block, dumping random ideas, and so on. I can't promise much quality from it and I have no plans as to the plot, but I'll let it develop on its own and see what we get. _

_Kind of like jazz... pffft._

* * *

The Southern half of Italy wobbled precariously on traitorous legs, arms spread wide in a desperate attempt to maintain his balance. Sure, his legs had supported him fine for centuries, yet just when he needed them most the bastards turned on him. Okay, so maybe if someone had strapped blades to _him_ he might feel a little resentful, too; but dammit, it'd be nice if they could pull themselves together (literally _and_ figuratively) and do what he told them to do for five seconds straight.

He'd fallen so much, his _bruises_ had bruises.

Dammit, Veneziano! Romano glanced over to where his brother was gliding along, idiotic smile plastered to his face, laughing and fawning over the potato-bastard. If it wasn't for him and his stupid puppy-eyes and incessant whining and begging, Romano wouldn't even _be_ in this situation in the first place! Why did he always let the idiot talk him in to these things? This was even worse than the stripping! Trembling, unsteady as a newborn fawn, Romano cursed whatever bastard had dreamed up ice-skating (_Ice_-skating! On -cue mental flailing- _ice!_ How stupid could people _get_?) to a slow, painful death, somewhere where he could watch. Along with the bastard who'd suggested it to Veneziano, causing the idiot to drag him out on this godforsaken la- his arms pinwheeled wildly as his legs shot out from under him.

He braced for impact, eyes instinctively screwing shut- this was going to _hurt_.

"Woah, there." He was halted mid-collapse by a firm, steady hand on his back, supporting his weight with ease. He opened first one eye, then the other, and slowly tilted his head back to see a pair of big, blue eyes looking down at him with concern. Where the hell had America come from? "South Italy, right? You alright there, buddy?" America asked, setting Romano back onto his feet, steadying him with a hand on his back and another gripping his arm.

"I'm _fine_, dammit. F-fucking _fantastic_. I just t-tripped, is all." Romano growled, yanking his arm from America's grasp, pride alone keeping him on his wavering feet. Well, that and America's hand still on his back.

"Haha, alright. Careful, little Italy, it can get slippery out here!" America laughed, patting his back (nearly sending Romano sprawling, since he was barely hanging onto his upright status as it was). "I'll see ya around!" He waved with a friendly grin, preparing to skate off, only to spin and catch him again when Romano's watery legs betrayed him a second time. "Woah! Steady there."

"I said I'm _f-fine, _dammit_._" Romano insisted, flushing in embarrassment, and pushing ineffectually at the arm holding him up. "I've got this. And what are _y-you_ doing here, anyway?"

"Same thing as you, Italy!" America grinned, displaying his skates. "This your first time ice skating? You know what you're doin'?"

"O-of course I do! I do it all the t-time. It's just, this ice is different than w-what I'm used to, d-dammit." Romano lied badly, gaze sliding off to the side.

"Yeah, Canada's ice does take some getting used to." America nodded seriously.

"It does?" Romano blinked up at him, surprised.

"Oh yeah. Not _nearly_ as awesome as American ice. But I can teach you the secret to it if you'd like." He leaned down to add confidentially, "Since Canada's my brother, I know _all_ the insider's tricks."

"Well..." Romano pursed his lips, considering. "Okay. If you w-want to. Not that I need y-your help, I c-could f-figure it out if I t-tried," He added quickly, "but, since you're offering, it'd be r-rude to say n-no."

"All right! This'll be fun!" America cheered, and slid 'round in front of him, taking his hands. The second his skin touched the Italian's, his eyes widened. "Holy crap, you're_ freezing_! How long have you been out here?" He exclaimed, looking down at the hands he held.

"N-not long. A h-half hour, m-maybe?" Romano answered, hunching defensively. "I-it's n-not that c-cold."

"Bull_shit_!" America contradicted incredulously, switching both Romano's hands into one of his while he dug through his pockets with the other. "You're not dressed for this kind of weather, Italy! Don't you have a hat, or something?" Finding what he was looking for, he drew a pair of gloves from his coat pocket, and set to pulling them over the other nation's frozen fingers. "God, you're _shivering_! Are you trying to get hypothermia?" He pulled off his knit cap, tugging it down over Romano's ears.

"I, I'm fine, d-dammit." Romano argued weakly, teeth chattering. He hadn't realized how cold he actually _was_ until America's warm hands had closed over his, the heat of the taller nation's skin almost burning against his own. No _wonder _he'd been shaking so much. It hadn't been his balance, it'd been the cold. The gloves and cap, still warm from America's body, seemed to radiate heat through his frame, spreading deliciously through his stinging fingers, scalp and ears.

America laughed, pulling off his scarf and wrapping it around the Italian's neck and shoulders. "You say that now, but another twenty minutes or so and you'd be singing a different tune. You have nice hands, South Italy. It'd be a shame to lose them to frostbite." He fingered Romano's collar critically. "At least you have a decent coat on. What is this, boiled wool? That should keep you warm enough." He checked the now-bundled Mediterranean nation over, and nodded, satisfied. "There. Now you should be plenty warm. Looks good!" He grinned and winked, adding, "Let's get some hot chocolate or something before we start skating."

"I,I,I, d-d-do-" Romano attempted a protest through chattering teeth as America led him off the ice, only to be halted by a warm finger pressed to his lips as the blond turned to face him.

"No arguements! We _have_ to have a hot drink before skating, it's _traditional_." America insisted earnestly as he stepped backwards onto the bank, "Otherwise it's bad luck!"

"I-it i-is?" The Italian shivered, taken aback. Wait, Feliciano had had coffee before they'd skated, right? But he'd turned it down, because the potato-bastard had been the one offering. No _wonder_ he'd been falling so much! It was luck, dammit, luck! He _knew_ it! It was all Germany's fault- that bastard must have known all along!

"Yep!" America affirmed, wrapping his arm around Romano's shoulders and leading him to a nearby bench. "You can't skate in Canada without having a hot drink first. Hot chocolate or coffee is best, but anything hot and liquid will do in a pinch." He explained, brushing snow off the seat and settling the Italian nation down. "So wait right here, and I'll bring some right over, 'kay? Then we can get started!"

Burying his face in America's scarf and trying not to shiver, Romano watched as America strode over to the vendor, with the long, confident, slightly bouncy strides of someone who had far too much energy and good cheer, and was eager to share it. It was the sort of walk that warned everyone in the vicinity that this person was likely to arrange sing-alongs or soup kitchens, or campaigns to save the children, endangered animals, Tibet, or anything else that needed saving, really, if you didn't give them something to do and fast. The dangerous sort of person who firmly believed life was beautiful and that everyone had the power to make the world a better place -yes, even you- and would have you believing it too if you weren't careful; and then you'd find yourself volunteering for charity or campaigning to save something you'd never even heard of a few days ago before you came to your senses.

The fact that he could walk like that in _ice skates_ said it all, really.

Romano wondered if he should abandon his own skates and run while he still could.

Eh, they would take too long to unlace.

His brother's laughter rang out over the ice, and he glanced over to where Veneziano was skating circles around a stiff and awkward Germany, grinning like an idiot, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. He'd gotten a hat and mittens from somewhere -Germany had probably brought along an extra pair, knowing Veneziano as well as he did- and as the elder half-nation watched, his brother moved to stand next to the German, pulling one of his mittens off to take Germany's hand in his, lacing their fingers together, and Germany's mouth quirked up in a tiny smile. It was impossible to tell if the flush across his cheekbones was from cold or embarrassment or happiness (or all three) as he slid their entwined hands into the pocket of his coat to keep them warm, and they moved side-by-side across the ice.

He felt an all-too-familiar pang as he watched his brother leaving him, yet again. Always, always, Veneziano was running ahead or being taken away, whether by Grandpa Rome or Austria or Germany, and Romano was left behind, forgotten, unable to catch up or fight back, and dammit, _dammit_. His eyes stung, and he blinked furiously, turning from the sight of his brother's back moving further from him once more.

He supposed, bitterly, that he _should_ be grateful to that blond fucker for taking such good care of his little brother, but that was _his_ job, dammit, _he_ was the elder brother. He and Veneziano were two halves of the _same country_, they were _supposed_ to be _together_, dammit, and after the union he was sure they'd _finally_ be together but here he was, watching his brother leave, same as always. With _Germany_, no less, and he _knew_ Veneziano didn't remember, had been too young to understand, really; and Germany obviously couldn't remember but _dammit_, he couldn't trust or forgive the bastard after-

"Here you go!" Something white obscured his vision and he blinked, looking up. America held out a large styrofoam cup, steam escaping from its vented lid, and beamed down at him. "We're in luck!" He said excitedly, like a kid sharing a secret, gesturing with his own cup, "They had fresh hot cider! It's the absolute best _ever_. Better than _anything._ Drink up, Italy!"

"I thought coffee or hot chocolate was best." Romano said as he took it, wrapping both hands around the warm beverage, letting the heat seep through the gloves, into his fingers.

"Mhm, they're the best, but that's only because it's nearly impossible to find real hot cider anymore." America explained cheerfully, crouching down beside him and taking a large swallow from his own cup with an appreciative hum. "Mmmm! It's like, ultra-super rare! You know what this means, don't you?"

"People hate squeezing apples?" The Italian asked dryly, tentatively sipping his own, rolling it over his tongue. Hm.. fresh apples and spices, hm, allspice and cinnamon and cloves, and...maybe a touch of brown sugar? He licked his lips. Not bad, actually. Not bad at all.

"Haha, no! Well, okay, maybe they do." America conceded, licking traces of cider from his own lips, "It's a pain in the ass. They're so _hard_. But I meant, finding it today is like, a sign! That today is going to be really good. It's like, God's saying 'Hey you guys, I've got amazing things in store for you!'"

"You don't actually believe that, do you?" Romano snorted, closing his eyes as he drank, savouring the taste of apples fresh from the orchard (it sort of reminded him of harvests and autumn sunshine, and pleasant hours in the kitchen, turning ingredients into masterpeices). Its heat spread through him, warming him to his toes, and bringing a flush to his cheeks. "I thought you didn't believe in supernatural stuff."

"Of course I do!" America answered. "I mean, I don't believe in magic, that's silly. But I believe in God and angels and stuff. Don't you? I mean, I've seen a lot of miracles in the last few hundred years, and you're older than I am, right? So you must have seen even more!"

"No miracles for me, bastard." Romano said bitterly, clutching the cup in gloved hands. "God forgot about me a long time ago."

His companion blinked, turning to look at him. "Do you really believe that?"

"I don't believe it." The Italian replied, looking out over the lake and sipping his drink. "I know it."

"Hm." The blond hummed thoughtfully, returning to his own drink and staring out over the ice with furrowed brows. "Well," he said after a moment, tipping back the last of his cider and tossing the cup into a nearby trash receptacle as he stood, "it's time to change that, then. How's the cider?"

"'s alright." Romano admitted reluctantly.

"Glad you like it." America smiled, coming to kneel in front of him, lifting Romano's left foot and examining the figure skate encasing it. "Gonna check your skates out before we go, make sure they're okay."

"They'd better be, I just paid three hundred for the damn things."

America whistled, eyebrows raised. "Plan on doing a lot of skating?" He asked, running his hands over the boot to check the fit, testing the blade.

"Not particularly." Romano responded, nursing his drink as America put down one foot and picked up the other.

"That's a lot of money to drop on a pair of skates, then." America mused, prodding the toe of the boot. "Still, these are really nice, I'm impressed. You're lucky we're in Canada, or you might have gotten ripped off. Actually, now that I think about it I'm kind of surprised you didn't end up with hockey skates. They're a little obsessed with it up here."

"I know what I'm doing." Romano contradicted obstinately, despite all evidence to the contrary.

"Y'know, your feet are really small." America observed interestedly, lifting Romano's foot to look the blade over. "Are these women's skates?"

"Fuck you, asshole!" Romano growled, flushing, trying to kick America in the face with little success, as his foot was held fast in the other's hands.

"Haha, sorry, sorry." America laughed, holding up a hand conciliatorily. "I didn't mean anything by it, they're very nice skates. Definitely worth what you paid for 'em. They comfortable?"

"Of course." Romano huffed, barely mollified.

"Good, good. That's important." America stood, brushing the snow off his knee and holding out his hand to help Romano up. "You about finished with that cider?"

"Nh." Romano made a face, swallowing the rest of his drink and rising from his seat. His ankles wobbled on the blades, and he growled in frustration when he had to grab the hands America proffered for support, or lose his balance. "I don't understand why anyone would want to do this crap." He grumbled, watching his feet carefully as the blond led him back towards the lake. "It's such a pain in the ass."

America chuckled. "It's a lot of fun! Just takes a little practice."

"Fun? _Fun_? What part of this is _fun_?" Romano scowled, as the tip of one of his blades caught a clump of earth under the snow.

"Once you get used to it, ice skating can be pretty awesome." America insisted, steadying him with a hand against his chest as the half-nation stumbled forward.

"Cheh." Scoffed Romano, inching slowly forward, eyes steadfastly on his feet.

"Here, I'll show you!" America announced, helpfully, and lifted the Italian up off the ground to sit on his shoulders.

"W-what the hell are you _doing?"_ Romano yelped, clinging to the American, arms and legs wrapping around his neck and head. America reached up to loosen the arm around his eyes.

"Not the eyes, Italy, gonna need those~!" Was the only warning Romano got before they were on the ice and accelerating.

"OhshitohshitohshitI'm going to diiiiie on a maniaaaac." Romano moaned, holding on for dear life as the nation under him gathered speed.

"Hold tight, we're goin' for a spin!" America called out, reaching up to hold Romano's knees to make sure he didn't fall off as he revved up into a good, smooth glide.

"Yeeeehaaaaaaaaw!" America howled in excitement as the landscape blurred past.

"Yeeeeaaaaaaaaaahhhh!" Romano yowled in terror as the American wove between the other skaters with reckless abandon.

"Too many people here!" America shouted, skillfully whipping through the crowd cluttering the ice near shore, "Gonna head out towards the far side of the lake!"

Romano whimpered desperately into America's hair, closing his eyes and tightening his already vice-like hold. As the moments passed and he failed to die or careen headlong into anything or plunge through the ice, his natural need for speed began supercede his fear. He adjusted his hold and settled himself more comfortably across the taller nation's shoulders, tentatively enjoying the ride, relaxing into the slight rocking motion of the nation underneath him. For a while there was only the _shhhshhhshhh_ of America's skates as they sped across the ice, adrenaline riding high.

He wondered if they could go faster.

"All good?" America called up, having felt the nation settle into the movement of his skating.

"Oi!" Romano leaned low over the American's head. "Can you go any faster, bastard?"

"You got it!" America laughed as he coiled for takeoff, putting more power into his strokes. "Buckle up, little Italy, we're gonna fly!"

And fly they did. They shot across the lake, eating up the ice in long, hungry strides that had both speed-hungry nations grinning like maniacs.

"Haha!" Romano exulted, throwing his arms wide, feeling the wind on his face. "Faster, bastard, faster!"

"Wahooo!" America agreed, shouting, "Watch _this_!"

The Italian's arms and legs tightened reflexively around the other nation as they started to zig-zag, undulating across the ice like a greased eel on a wet floor. "Holy _shit!" _He gasped, quickly recovering, but maintained his hold as America swerved, executing several looping turns at break-neck speeds. "_Fuck_ yeah!" Romano howled as they shot out of the fourth turn, "Do that again!"

Laughing, America obliged, spiraling them through tighter and tighter turns until they were spinning across the ice and South Italy was screaming in his ear. He finished with a spinning jump, landing to swizzle backwards, slowing into a smooth backward glide. "Good?" He asked, tilting his head back to grin at the nation on his shoulders as his strokes evened out. Romano chuckled breathlessly, nodding.

"Th-that was _great_." He panted, once he could talk. "C-can we do it again?"

America laughed again. "We could, sure, but don't you want to learn how to do it yourself?"

"Eh." Romano made a face. "That's alright, bastard. I'm fine riding."

"Aw, haha. Don't be like that, Italy!" The blond grinned, lifting him off and slowing to a stop. "It'll be fun, promise!"

"Fun for who?" Romano grumbled as America settled him on the ice.

For the next hour or so, the American taught him how to stand in his skates, explaining how to get up if he fell; how to stroke at an angle to propel himself across the ice both backwards and forwards, how to coast with the flat of the blade, to turn using the edge of the blade to dig into the ice, and —after he'd ended up chasing a screaming South Italy across the ice to catch him before he slid, out-of-control, into a snowbank— how to stop.

"This is _impossible_." He growled in frustration the umpteenth time he'd stumbled into America's arms in his thus-far-fruitless attempts to execute a stop that didn't end up with a faceplant into the ice (or, in his case, America's torso; since the taller nation seemed to have a thing about being there just in time to prevent a real fall, no matter how far away Romano had managed to skate before tripping). "I'm never going to get it. This is a waste of time, dammit."

"No way, you're doing great!" America encouraged. "The only thing you've had trouble with so far is braking. But you can do it, don't worry! You'll get it next time!"

"Easy for you to say, bastard." Romano muttered, irritated. The taller nation moved on ice like he was born on it, effortless and easy, and it was making him feel impossibly clumsy and ungainly in comparison. He'd been at this for _ever_ and he _still_ couldn't move like that, dammit. Sure, he was fine going forward or backward, and gliding was easy enough, and he'd pretty much gotten the hang of accelerating or slowing down, but he could barely manage a proper turn without wobbling terribly, and _stopping_ was eluding him entirely. Maybe he just wasn't cut out for ice skating. Must be something you had to start from infancy, or something. Certainly everyone else on the lake seemed to have taken to it like fish to water. "I thought you said this was going to be 'fun'." He added plaintively, pushing himself away from the other nation, using the extra momentum to speed his skating. "I'm still waiting for the 'fun' to start."

"You're not having any fun?" The taller nation asked curiously, gliding backwards a little ahead and to one side of him, clasping his hands behind his head. Romano tripped before he'd finished the question, toepick catching on the ice, and the Italian growled in vexation as he found himself draped over the blond's arm once more.

"_No_ I am not having any fun. Look," He pinched the bridge of his nose, gesturing frustratedly with the other hand, "it's obvious we're wasting our time here, bastard. I'm never going to get it. You should just go do whatever and let me go sit on a bench somewhere until my stupid brother remembers I exist and I can go back to the hotel and forget this ever happened, dammit."

"But you're doing so good! You can't give up yet, Italy, you've almost got it!" America protested, setting him back on his feet.

Romano crossed his arms, scowling. "It's been over an hour and I still can't stop without falling over. I think that's a pretty clear sign that it's hopeless."

The blond looked down at him, eyebrows raised. "_That's_ what has you down?" He rolled his eyes, and started counting off on his fingers. "Italy, you've learned how to stand, skate forwards _and_ backwards, turn and balance in a little over an _hour_. It takes most people weeks to learn all that. Heck, most beginners take hours just to learn how to stand on ice. I've been really impressed with your progress, actually."

Romano blinked. "R-really?"

"Definitely! You're doing great." America nodded earnestly. "In fact, stopping is the only thing that seems to have given you any real trouble so far."

"Oh." Romano pondered this for a moment. That changed things a bit. Well...it was only natural. He _was_ pretty impressive. "O-of course! I'm good at just about _anything._" He asserted, raising his chin. "There's _nothing_ I can't do if I try."

"That's the spirit!" America cheered, grinning and punching the air. "A little ice can't get you down!"

"R-right!" Romano agreed, puffing with bravado, hands on his hips. "I'll show this stupid lake what for!"

"Give 'em hell, Italy!"

"Haha, just watch me!"

"Romaaannoooo~!" Their ice-conquering was put on hold by a call from across the lake. They looked over their shoulders to see North Italy waving at them from near the shoreline, one hand cupped around his mouth in a makeshift loudspeaker. "Romaaaanooo, it's time to gooo~!"

"Aww." America said disappointedly, turning to his playmate. "Looks like 'mom's' calling you in for the night."

"Cheh." Romano scoffed, crossing his arms again. "Stupid little brothers, always spoiling my fun."

"Ameerrrriiicaaa~!" Canada called on cue, waving from a spot not far from Veneziano. "Let's go home! It's dinnertime!"

"I hear that. Little brothers suck." America commiserated, sighing. He shrugged and held out a hand. "Want a ride back?"

Romano considered it. His legs _were _pretty sore. "Well, alright. Can we do that stuff you did before?" He asked, as America lifted him onto his shoulders again, "All the spinning and stuff. Before we go."

"Haha, sure," the other nation agreed, "I think we've earned it. I'll have to get a running start, though." He added, turning to skate towards the center of the lake. "We're gonna need room to build up enough speed."

"Sweet." Romano grinned in anticipation, holding on tight.

"_America! What are you doing? Come on, it's time to go!" _Canada shouted from shore, exasperated to see his brother skating _away_ from shore.

"_Hold your horses, Canada!_" America hollered back, nearly shattering Romano's eardrums, lifting an arm to wave over his shoulder at his brother. "_We'll be right there!" _Reaching the centre of the lake, he skated a slow circle, and grinned up at Romano. "You ready for this?"

"Do it, bastard." Romano ordered, leaning low over his head, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

"Haha, you got it!"

They rocketed towards the shore, hurtling through a series of loops and spins, topped off with another spinning jump and ending in a long sideways skidding slide, leaning low over the ice. They stopped dead a few feet from the shore, and Romano's mouth dropped open incredulously.

"What the _hell_ was that?" He demanded, frowning down at the blond, who tipped his head back to regard the angry Italian with confusion.

"What was what?"

"_That_! That thing you just did to stop!" Romano gestured furiously.

"Oh. That was a hockey stop!" America explained, reaching up to help Romano down.

Romano slapped his hands away, and crossed his arms. "Why the hell didn't you teach me _that_? That's _way_ better than that stupid thing you showed me earlier!"

"It's harder to learn, though." America answered back, grinning amusedly. "So I figured it was best to go with the basic stop."

"You thought wrong." Romano sulked, feeling cheated. "Next time teach me the _good_ stuff, dammit."

"Haha, okay." America laughed, reaching up to help him down again. This time Romano allowed it. "I can show you tomorrow. You free around two?"

"No, that's siesta time. I'll be free after 4, though." He answered, smoothing out his jacket.

"Alright, cool. Meet me here at 4, then, and I'll show you how to do a hockey stop." America grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"'Kay. But if you're not here I'm not waiting around."

"I'll be here! Thanks for the fun, Italy! I'll catch you tomorrow." America said with a little wave and a smile as he skated easily backwards towards an impatient Canada.

"Seeya then, bastard." Romano agreed, and turned to skate to where his brother was waiting on the bank, unlacing his skates.

"Wait!" He looked back to see America skating up, waving him down. "One sec," The blond smiled, stopping in front of Romano and patting his pockets, pulling out a pen. "You got some paper or something?"

"Um," Romano said, eyebrows raised. "No?"

"Oh." America frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "Oh! I know. Here, gimme your hand." Puzzled, Romano held it out, and America took it, pulling off the glove and turning it over to write on the Italian's palm.

Romano stiffened, taken aback. "W-what are you doing?"

"Figured I should give you my number." America answered idly, sticking his tongue out in concentration as he wrote. "Just in case. There you go!" He nodded in satisfaction, pocketing his pen.

Romano blinked down at the digits in his palm, nonplussed. Were all Americans this weird? "Um, thanks?"

"No problem. Call me anytime!" America beamed, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Well, I've gotta go, Canada's waiting. I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Oi, wait- you want your stuff back?" Romano called after him, waving the glove.

"Keep 'em!" America called back over his shoulder. "You'll need 'em tomorrow, too!"

Shrugging, Romano pulled the glove back on, and headed for shore.

It wasn't until he'd reached the shoreline, realized that he _still_ didn't know how to stop, and ended up sprawled in a snowbank that it occurred to him to wonder why he'd signed himself up for another day of _this_.

* * *

_AN: Unlike with my other fics, I did no reasearch for this (beyond looking up a glossary of skating terms, which I ended up not using 'cause only a skating enthusiast would recognise them). Still, it was fun to write! I pretty much let whatever happened, happen. I'm curious to see where it'll go. _


	2. Your Brother Rides Polar Bears

**Hetalia: Is not mine.**

_Still no plot here, folks. This is just a random stream of stuff that comes from my brain. I'm finding out it helps clear blocks- kind of like leaving the faucet dripping to keep the pipes from freezing. Might be a little boring..._

_You've been warned._

* * *

Romano arrived at the lake the next day at 4:15, not really sure what he was doing there. He'd actually intended to blow the whole thing off, since, well, _really_, it was a stupid idea. It's not like he'd ever need to know how to skate on ice. And if he did, surely he'd learned enough the day before to figure it out for himself. It's not like he _needed_ America to show him anything.

But, well, he'd spent most of the day lounging around the hotel room by himself. After Veneziano had dragged him down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast, his brother had run off to meet up with Germany to spend the day at a local Maple Syrup Festival, which might have interested Romano, just a _little_, if he hadn't found out that they weren't going to eat much maple syrup at the syrup festival, so much as attend several lectures about maple trees and the syrup-making process. Which was _stupid_. _Everyone_ knew how you made maple syrup. Stab a tree, watch it bleed. Syrup. It wasn't rocket science. The _fun_ part was eating it, dammit. Only Canadians would be so boring as to hold a festival to focus on the least interesting aspect of the whole thing. And only _Germans_ would be so boring as to want to _watch_.

Besides, the prospect of being the third wheel yet again, and having to trail along behind watching them make goo-goo-eyes at each other and all that sickening couple-y shit that they did without having something sweet to distract him was less-than-appealing. So he opted to stay behind at the hotel, watching _incredibly boring_ Canadian daytime television and ordering the most expensive desserts and meals and wines the hotel offered (making sure to charge the room service bill to Germany).

Which killed time until about noon, when he finally had to admit that he was bored out of his skull. He tried for an early start on his siesta, but he'd had an early night and slept late this morning already- there was only so long he could _sleep_, dammit. He wasn't _Spain_, after all. 2 o'clock found him wide awake, staring at the ceiling, with the incessant hum of the hotel air conditioner in his ears.

And so when 3:30 rolled around, he finally gave in and decided to take America up on his offer- if only to stave off insanity. After several false starts and near-changes of mind, here he was. A little late, true, but definitely here.

So where was America?

"HEY, Italy!"

"Aiiiee!" Right behind him, as it turned out. Romano looked up from where he crouched in the snow to see the American blinking down at him in surprise, holding a steaming cup in either hand.

"Hahaha, you alright?" America asked, impressed. "I've never seen anyone jump that high and duck and cover so fast! You get a lot of practice?"

"Yeah, I'm a fucking expert." Romano growled, scrambling to his feet. Brushing the snow off himself, he continued, "Didn't anyone ever teach you it's rude to sneak up on people?"

"I didn't sneak!" America corrected, "I totally said your name and everything so you would know I was there. You just weren't paying attention. Or maybe you're just high-strung. You ever hear of Valium?"

"I'll show _you_ high-strung." Romano countered. "There's nothing wrong with me, dammit. _Anyone_ would be startled if some jackass came out of nowhere and screamed in their ear."

"I didn't scream!" America defended, and held out a cup. "Here, I think you could use this. Might take the edge off of whatever you're on."

"Were you this much of an asshole yesterday?" Romano grumbled, accepting the cup and taking a sip, "I _must've_ been on something if I agreed to let _you_ teach me anything. Did you drug my cider, dammit?"

"Haha no way! You were just high on life, Italy! Like me!" America laughed, slapping his back.

"That's the corniest shit I've ever heard, bastard." Romano snorted.

"Doesn't mean it isn't true, though." The taller nation commented, turning to look him over. "I see you're dressed warmer today. Good thing, too- it's supposed to drop another 10 degrees before sundown."

"Right, I'll be going now." The Italian turned around to head back to the rental car.

"Haha, no way! Come on, you'll be fine. It'll be fun!" America assured as he caught him by the arm, hauling him towards a bench on the edge of the frozen lake. "We'll be keeping plenty warm, anyway. Ice skating's great cardio!"

Romano semi-reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged along with only a half-hearted grunt of protest, not really wanting to go back to an empty hotel room to be bored out of his mind. At least here he'd have company, even if it was American company. "Alright, but I expect a ride out of this, bastard. Maybe two. Or three. And if I don't have any fun then you have to give me rides until I say I'm done."

"Yes _master_." America responded sarcastically, grinning and rolling his eyes. He didn't really mind; he liked giving rides, and Mattie would hardly ever let him anymore because it was 'too embarrassing' or 'we're too old for that, America'. Personally, he didn't see why being an adult meant you had to stop having fun.

"Heh, about time you learned your place, peon." Romano smirked as America released his arm.

"What, under you? Since when?" America asked in curious amusement.

"Since I said so, bastard." Romano asserted, unslinging his skates from over his shoulder.

"Hah, well, while you're relegating me to 'faithful steed', why don'tcha finish up your cider and lace up so we can get started." The taller nation grinned, disposing of his own cup and unshipping his skates, flopping down onto the bench to put them on.

"Yeah, yeah." Romano sighed, sinking down onto the bench. He nursed his drink slowly, not entirely eager for the 'fun' to start. Sitting was _comfortable_, dammit. Even if it was awfully cold out. He pulled the cap down further over his ears, hunching his shoulders to try and keep warm. America, having finished lacing his skates, turned to regard him expectantly, swinging his freshly-skated feet like a restless child. "You 'bout done?"

"Mm. Gimme a bit, bastard."

"'K. How much you got left?"

"I dunno. Half?"

"What? No way! You're taking _forever_. Are you drinking it, or trying to absorb it psychically? 'Cause I can tell you now- I've tried that, and it doesn't work."

"It's called _savouring_, bastard. You might want to try it, instead of, you know, inhaling everything that comes near your mouth-hole."

"I savour. I totally savour. I just savour _fast_, because I'm awesome like that. I can savour in seconds!"

Romano rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well those of us without super-savouring powers like to enjoy our drinks like human beings, jackass."

America sighed, flopping over on the bench with a whine. "Man, that takes _forever_. Hey." He pushed himself up off the bench, and held out a hand. "Gimme your skates."

Romano handed them over, watching as the blond took them and looked them over. "They're the same skates as before, if that's what you're doing."

"Nah." America settled down on the ground in front of him, legs crossed, and reached for the Italian's foot. "Might as well get your skates on while you're busy 'savouring' your drink. Otherwise we'll be here all night."

"Knock yourself out, weirdo." Romano half-shrugged. If the idiot wanted to do all his work for him, he wasn't about to argue. Bastard obviously had the energy to spare.

Unlacing and pulling off Romano's right boot, America's brows raised, and he whistled. "Holy crap, your feet are really tiny! I mean, I knew they were small, but _damn_. They're like, half the size of mine, if even. Holy crap. I bet my _hands_ are bigger than your feet. Look!" He held up Romano's foot, splaying his hand across the bottom of it in comparison. Sure enough, his fingers extended almost a full inch farther than the Italian nation's sock-covered toes. Romano scowled, hunching defensively.

"So what? Is there a point to this, bastard?"

"Haha no, it's just neat! They're so tiny and cute, it's like you're a prince-" A boot to the face from Romano's free foot sent him tumbling backwards, swiftly followed by an angry Italian.

"You had _better_ not been about to say 'princess', fucker." Romano snarled, grinding his unshod foot into America's face.

"Watch out for the glasses, Italy!" America peeled the foot from his face, holding it back. "I need those to be me!"

"You shoulda thought of that before you decided to be a jackass, jackass!" Romano answered, struggling to push past America's hand to kick his face in.

"Hahah, sorry, but c'mon! You're like, Cinderella! I feel like I should be looking for a glass slipper or somethin'." America grinned unrepentantly, easily holding back a vengeful Italian leg.

"Oh that is IT, you ASSHOLE!" Romano tackled the prone nation, straddling the idiot's chest, scooping up handfuls of snow and smashing them into the surprised blond's face. "Here's your damn slipper, moron! I'll give _you_ Cinderella!"

"Shitshitfuck, that's _cold!_" America yelped and writhed under the assault, sneezing as snow got up his nose. "Shit, it's in my _ears_!" Flipping them over, he pinned Romano to the ground with one hand against the Italian's chest, digging around in the snow with the other. "Payback time." He grinned.

"NonononoI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryIhaverelativesinNewYork" Romano whimpered, desperately shielding his face as America gathered up a huge ball of snow, "You wouldn't hit Cinderella, would you?" He yelped in a final plea, as he curled up in preparation for ice oblivation.

"Hahaha what?" America hesitated, unable to attack someone who was whimpering so pitifully, and shook the snow from his hand to poke the quivering South Italy's cheek. "Jeez Italy, it's just snow. It's not like it's gonna kill you or somethin'."

Roman sniffled, peeking out from between his fingers to see if it was safe. "S-shut up, I know that! I-it's just...really cold, okay?"

"So, what, you have some crippling snow allergy or somethin'?" America teased, poking Romano's cheek again.

"Yeah, it's a curse." The other swatted at his hand, "I turn into a tomato fairy and disappear if you hit me with snow. Now get off me, dammit!" He pushed against America's chest, trying to shove the larger nation off.

"Okay, okay." America allowed himself to be pushed off, settling into the snow next to Romano. "So you ready to skate, ladyfoot?"

"Fuck you!" Romano chucked a handful of snow at the blond, who just laughed and held out a hand to help him up.

"C'mon, let's get your skates on and get on the ice."

Romano brushed the snow off his clothes and sock and stood, balancing on one foot. "I can't walk in the snow in my sock, bastard. It'll get wet." America glanced down.

"Oh, yeah, you're right. Sorry. Wait here one sec." He trotted back to the bench to gather up the discarded footwear, dropping the Italian's boot onto the seat and bringing the skates back to where Romano waited. Dropping down on one knee, he held up the right skate with a flourish for Romano to slip on. "Your skate, your highness."

"Thank you, peon." Romano responded imperiously, holding onto the blond's shoulder for balance while he slipped his foot into the skate. "Now, lace me up." America snorted in amusement but did as he was 'asked', balancing the other's foot on his leg as he pulled the laces tight and tied them off. He swatted the Italian's ankle and gestured for the other foot when he was done.

"Other side."

Romano obediently lifted his other foot, but found he wobbled so badly on the blade of the skate that he had to hold onto America's shoulders with both hands while the other pulled off his boot and slid on his skate. "Augh. How do you walk in these things, bastard? They're all wobbly and shit."

"Practice." America answered, pulling the laces tight. "I've been doin' this for a couple hundred years. I could probably dance in these things. Don't worry though, it won't take you nearly that long."

"Cheh, trust me, I-"

"Ve~, Romano~! What are you and America doing?" They looked up to see Veneziano skipping towards them.

"Hi, other Italy!" America greeted with a wave, tying off the laces. "Just finishin' getting Italy's skates on. You here to skate, too?"

"Yep~! The festival's over, so Germany and I decided to come here again! Skating is so much fun~."

Romano frowned, tentatively settling his weight across both skates. "The festival's over? It's not even five. What kind of festival ends after 8 hours?"

"A Canadian one." America answered, standing and brushing the snow off his trousers. "After the heady excitement of the pancake breakfast and four-hour lecture they have to go have a lie-down to settle their nerves."

"I feel asleep during the lecture." Veneziano admitted. "But Germany says it was very interesting! The pancakes were delicious, ve~."

"Canada does great pancakes." America agreed. "The _best_. Light and fluffy and buttery and with the _syrup_ and _unngh_." He moaned rapturously. "I could eat them _all day_. And sometimes he puts chocolate chips and stuff in them for me! Or blueberries or gummy bears and stuff."

"All day is a lot of pancakes." Veneziano observed. "Won't you get sick?"

Romano snorted. "You eat pasta all day, idiot. Same damn difference."

"Pasta's not sweet, though." Veneziano countered.

"It totally could be. You could put syrup on it! Stuff like that." America interjected, oblivious to the Italians' horrified/revolted stares. "I bet that'd be really good. Or like, chocolate sauce!"

"...Step away from the crazy person, Veneziano. I can't run in skates, so you'll have to save yourself. Run while you still can." Romano whispered _sotto voce_, leaning towards his brother while keeping a wary eye on America. Unfortunately leaning unbalanced him further, and he yelped as he started to fall, only to be caught yet again by America. "Save yourself, Veneziano! He's got me!" He flailed theatrically in America's arms, and his brother giggled and shrieked, running away.

"You can run, but you can't hide, Italy!" America cackled, slinging Romano over his shoulder and going after the escaping nation. "I'm gonna getcha!" Veneziano shrieked louder, flailing as he ran, slowed down by his helpless giggles. America caught up to him easily, despite his skates, and hoisted North Italy over his other shoulder with a maniacal laugh. "I got the Italys, ahahaha! I'm king of the worrrrld!"

"You'll never take us alive, bastard!" Romano howled, pounding on his back. "Quick, Veneziano, grab his scarf! We can use it to cover his mouth- it's the source of his evil powers!"

"But, but, what if he eats _us_, brother?" Veneziano pretended to worry as he stifled his giggles, holding onto America's scarf, "I'm scared!"

"You're right." Romano answered faux-thoughtfully, "The bastard _will_ eat just about anything."

"I've heard Italians are especially delicious." America agreed, snapping his teeth with a _clack_.

"No, no, no don't eat me~, I taste bad!" Veneziano pleaded, "Very, very bad!"

"Only one way to find out!" America answered with a mock-growl.

"Don't worry Veneziano, I'll save us!" Romano shouted, twisting to wrap the scarf around America's face. "Take _that_, bastard! Ahahaha!"

"Nooo!" America howled, sliding the Italians down from his shoulders and stumbling backwards, falling slowly into a snowdrift. "Cuuuurrrse yoouuuu! Auughghgh." He squirmed in the snow, tugging at the scarf covering his face. "I've been vanquished! No delicious Italians for meee~."

"You _saved_ me, brother~!" Veneziano cheered, throwing himself at Romano (which since Romano still hadn't mastered balancing on his skates off-ice sent them both tumbling to the ground with simultaneous yelps), "My hero!" He giggled, wriggling up to kiss Romano's cheek.

The sound of a pointedly cleared throat made them all look up. Germany stood on the pavement a few feet away, holding a cup of coffee in either hand and looking terribly confused. "What-"

"Germany, Germany!" Veneziano greeted, scrambling to his feet and bounding over to the other nation, "Guess what? America went crazy and tried to eat me and Romano, but brother saved me by covering the source of his evil powers! You should have seen it, Germany!"

"...America...tried to eat you?" Germany asked, brows furrowing in further confusion. He looked over to wear the superpower lay sprawled in the snow.

"Yep! But you don't have to worry 'cause Romano saved me!" Veneziano answered happily. "Isn't that great? He was so brave!"

"...South Italy?" Germany echoed again, glancing over to where Romano was struggling to regain his feet.

"Mhmm~! Is that coffee for me?"

"Oh, yes." Germany seemed to remember the cups he held, and offered one to Veneziano, relieved to be off the bewildering subject of cannibalistic nations and South Italys gone wild. "You have snow all over your clothing." He observed, brushing it off as Veneziano enjoyed his drink. "You should be more careful, you might catch cold."

"Well, that was fun." America said, sitting up in the snowdrift and settling his scarf back around his neck. "I think I have snow down my collar, though."

"That's what you get for trying to eat us, bastard." Answered Romano, very carefully brushing the snow from his own clothes as he tried not to fall over.

"I couldn't help it, I was under a curse." America answered back, standing and shaking the snow off himself like a dog. "The curse of the tomato fairy!"

"Tomato fairies don't curse!" Veneziano objected from the sidewalk. "They're _good_ fairies, ve~!"  
"They do if you do the things America does to their tomatoes." Romano said drily, crossing his arms. "Like _chocolate sauce_." Veneziano shivered, with an unhappy 've~'.

"Pfffft." America said dismissively. "It's awesome and you know it. You're just mad 'cause I said you had teeny-tiny feet. Which you totally do."

"Ve~, you know? They didn't have any skates our size in the store, so brother and I had to get women's skates!" Veneziano piped up helpfully, to his brother's horror.

"V-veneziano! Shut _up_!_" _Romano shouted, moving to silence his brother and tumbling to the ground as his foot turned under him. It was too late, anyway, the damage had been done. He pushed himself up on all fours to growl at America, whose lips were twitching suspiciously as he tried hard not to laugh. "Not one word, bastard. Not _one_."

America raised his eyebrows in an innocent 'who, me?' expression, which _might_ have worked if he hadn't immediately followed it with a grin that said 'I might not be sayin' anything _now_, but I'm laughing like a maniac inside and you'd better believe this is going to come back to bite you'. Romano contented himself with narrowing his eyes at the other nation briefly, before turning his concentration to struggling to his feet. Clearing his throat, America stepped forward to help him up. "Ready to hit the ice, Italy?"

"I guess." Romano pursed his lips, unenthused by the prospect. "Might as well get it over with." Waving companionably to the others, America dragged him onto the lake to begin their lesson.

Once on the ice, America insisted that they run through what he'd learned the day previous, before teaching him anything new. Once he was satisfied that Romano both remembered and could execute everything smoothly, he declared that he was ready to learn the hockey stop.

"Okay, now- hold onto me for balance, okay?" He started, going down on his knee on the ice. "Left hand here." He patted his right shoulder, "And face that way." He gestured left. Romano complied, settling his hand on America's right shoulder and turning. America nodded. "Good. Now what you're going to be doing, is using the inside edge of your blade to shave the ice. We'll start with your right foot. Tilt your skate like this," He lifted a hand, tilting it in demonstration. "A little less. Good, right there. That's the inside edge, okay? You're going to want to do it just like that. Okay, now- push outward with your leg, and try to shave off a layer of ice. You can use me for support if you need to. Ah, stop- you're putting too much pressure downward, see? You do that, and it'll just catch the ice and you'll turn your ankle. Be gentle- just slide your foot out on the inside edge, and try and peel the surface- yes, just like that. Perfect. See how you're just shaving a fine layer off the top? You've got the angle just right, right there. Okay? Now, do that again. No, don't straighten your leg," He reached out to press gently on the back of Romano's knee, "keep your knee bent a little. It's kinda like a shock absorber, alright? It'll help you keep your balance and distribute your weight properly- you lock your knee and you'll just flip right the fuck over or break something, and that sucks, trust me. Much better, keep it just like that." He nodded approvingly as Romano managed another successful shave. He made him repeat the motion several dozen times, and then start over on the other side, turning around to practice with his opposite leg. Once he was satisfied that Romano had it down, he stood. "Okay." He said, "Now that you kind of have a feel for that, this is what I want you to do. I'm gonna go back a bit, and I want you to skate towards me, and practice turning your foot in front of you, like this," he demonstrated as he spoke, "rotating your hips and bringing the skate 'round just like you were just doing, shaving the ice as you go. You'll be using your other leg mostly for balance at this point- this is just to get you used to turning your skate to stop. Got it?"

"Got it." Romano affirmed, fully confident in his got-it-ness.

"Alright." America skated easily backwards a few paces. "Let's see what you got."

"Prepare to be amazed, bastard." Romano smirked, skating towards the taller nation and turning his foot...and turning, and turning, and- "It _doesn't work_, dammit!" He accused, stuck in a loop.

"Hahaha, hang on, hang on." America chuckled, skating up to halt the Italian's spinning. "That wasn't bad, actually- except for the spinning. You got the technique down, you just have to make sure you keep your momentum going _forward_, in the same direction, instead of letting the skate lead you into a turn. It's a little counter-inuitive at first, but you want most of your weight on your leading leg, and ride the inside edge into a stop. Um, here." He took Romano's hands in his, and stepped back, planting his feet apart. "I'll pull you forward a bit, and you practice turning and keeping your momentum going this way. I'll hold you up, so you just focus on getting a feel for the movement, okay? You wanna get used to the resistance of the ice, and ride it. Make sense?"

"Ehh..." Romano gnawed his lip, staring uneasily down at his skates.

"C'mon Italy, you can do it." America encouraged, squeezing his hands. "I'll pull you towards me, and you turn and shave the ice with your skate. Okay? You ready?" He made to pull the Italian towards him, and Romano's eyes widened in alarm.

"Stop stop stop! Wait!"

"What, why? You can do it, Italy, don't worry!"

"Of _course_ I can do it, dammit! It's not that, moron!" Romano protested. "You can't just pull me forward like that! If you do that, we're both going to fall!"

"What? No we won't." America contradicted. "It'll be fine. I gotcha."

"But who's got _you_, bastard? If you fall on me, you'll kill me! You're huge!"

"_I_ got me, Italy! It's not a problem, okay? Just relax and let me handle it."

"Bullshit! If I slip or fall it's gonna pull you off-balance, and then you'll squish me to jelly! I don't want to be jelly, bastard!"

"Come _on_ Italy, it'll be fine." America rolled his eyes, pulling the panicked South Italy towards him. Completely unprepared and unwilling, Romano lost his balance and flailed in alarm, trying to scrabble backwards and maintain his upright status at the same time. In the process his right knee accidentally caught America right in the groin. "Gnnnhhhnng." America whimpered, eyes crossing, and fell to his knees in agony, releasing the other's arms to belatedly shield the effected area. His arms now free, Romano latched onto the American for support, flinging his arms around the blond's neck and clinging tightly to him, relieved to finally be stable.

"You _bastard_." He panted, heart racing. "You coulda _killed_ me."

America didn't answer, too busy drowning in the throbbing, crashing waves of _pure pain_ radiating from his vital regions, overwhelming all other senses in incoherent, mindless agony.

"What the fuck were you-" Romano started once he recovered from his freakout, and pulled back to berate the other nation, stopping when he noticed the blond's predicament. "Oh. Uh, sorry."

"Don't worry about it." America wheezed painfully, once the pain had subsided to merely unbearable levels, "It's not like I planned on having kids, anyway. Ohhh _fuck_." He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and toppling sideways to lay gasping on the ice, curling into a fetal position.

Romano winced in sympathy. "Uh...you, uh... want some ice for that?"

America screwed one eye open to stare at him disbelievingly. Romano shifted uncomfortably.

After five or ten extremely long, awkward (for Romano) and painful (for America) minutes, America finally uncurled, pushing himself up on all fours. "Okay." He panted. "Okay. Let's try that again. Without kicking anyone in the nuts."

"It was an _accident_." Romano defended guiltily.

"Yeah, I know." America nodded, staggering to his feet.

"And it was your own damn fault anyway, dammit." Romano muttered, hunching in on himself, eyes sliding off to the side. "If you hadn't _yanked_ on me like that-"

"I'm sorry, I forgot you were a _total spazz_." America responded, throwing his hands up and rolling his eyes. He didn't really blame the Italian for what'd happened, it _had_ been an accident, but the residual pain was making him irritable. "Seriously, you might want to look into getting some Valium. Or St John's Wort, if you prefer the natural stuff. Valerian's pretty popular, I hear. _Something_ to help you _chill out_."

"What the hell? I don't need to chill, asshole! I'm chill. I'm chill as fuck." Romano growled, crossing his arms.

"Yes, my testicles can attest to your unsurpassed chillocity." The blond deadpanned drily. "Truly you are the most chill of dudes. The mother-fucking _Fonz_. On _ice_."

"I already _apologized_ for that, bastard." Romano shifted again, flushing guiltily. "I-it's not like I did it on purpose, dammit."

"I know, I know." America sighed. "I'm sorry for pulling before you were ready. But you really don't have to worry, okay Italy? I'm not gonna fall -if you don't kick me in the balls, that is- and I won't let you fall, either."

"But-!"

"_Really_." America insisted. "I'm pretty strong, so I can easily handle it if you go off-balance, okay? How else do you think I'm able to skate with you on my shoulders?"

Oh, right. Suddenly Romano felt a little silly for having freaked out. And after all, it's not like America had let him fall yet. "I, I knew that, dammit."

"So you ready to try again?" America encouraged, holding out his hands.

"Alright. But if you turn me into jelly, I'm kicking your ass." Romano warned him, skating closer and taking his hands.

"No jellied Italy, got it." America grinned, planting his feet on the ice once more. "Okay. Now, this time, just...lean back. As far as you can go."

Hesitantly, Romano leaned his weight backwards- and stiffened as his feet started to slide forward. He grasped America's hands tightly, struggling to maintain his footing on the ice.

"It's okay." America reassured him. "Go ahead and let yourself slide. Just relax. I gotcha." A little nervously, Romano complied, relaxing his tense muscles with considerable conscious effort, and letting America support his weight as he leaned backward, sliding forward 'till his legs were halfway between the arc of America's legs. "I gotcha." America soothed, "You're just fine. You've got nothing to be afraid of. I'm not gonna let you fall." Slowly, Romano relaxed for real, letting the taller nation take all of his weight. "See? I 're just fine. I gotcha." Suspended eight inches above the ice, Romano closed his eyes, breathing evenly, completely relaxed. After a moment, he opened his eyes again, blinking up at the other nation, who smiled.

"Good job. I'm gonna pull you up now, okay? You ready?"

"Yeah." Romano nodded, and America effortlessly pulled him upright, settling him back on his feet.

"You did good." America praised. "Just fine, Italy. Now, I'm gonna pull you towards me, and I want you to try and turn like I showed you before, okay? I'll support most of your weight for now, you just focus on turning and shaving the ice, and maintaining that forward momentum, okay? You remember how?"

"Of course." The Italian nodded. "I remember, dammit."

"Good. You ready?"

"Un." Romano nodded again, and this time managed to focus on turning and peeling the ice instead of kneeing anyone in the junk, accidentally or otherwise. The rest of the lesson went much more smoothly, as Romano learned to stop first with one, then with both feet, gradually supporting more of his own weight as he did so, until America decided he ready to stop on his own, sans all support.

"I'm gonna demonstrate a few times, and I want you to watch. I'm gonna do full-on stops, with both feet, which is what I want you to do. Pay attention to how I shift my weight just before I turn to stop, okay?" He instructed, and skated to a distance a few yards away. "You watchin'?"

"I'm watching, bastard." Romano affirmed, slightly nervous at the thought of doing it on his own. America nodded, and skated back and forth in a 12-foot strip, stopping at each end. After about six stops, he skated back to stand next to South Italy.

"That's what you're gonna be doin'." He stated, placing a hand on the Italian's shoulders encouragingly. "Don't worry about goin' too fast at first, just go at whatever pace you feel comfortable, okay?"

"Okay." Romano nodded.

"Great. You can do it, Italy!" America grinned, patting his shoulder and stepping back.

Romano looked back at him, surprised. "A-aren't you coming with me?"

"Nope." America shook his head. "You're doin' this on your own."

"B-but, what if I fall? You're supposed to catch me!" Romano clenched his fists, trepidation rising. Fuck fuck fuck, he was going to _crash_.

"You'll be alright, Italy." America reassured him. "You got this down. You've already done it with me holding on to you, and you can do it on your own, no problem."

"But, can't you just... come with me? It's-, I-, what if-"

"_Italy_." America skated in front of him, taking his shoulders in hand. "Italy, _you got this_. You'll be _fine_. It's just a little stop, okay? Even if you fall, it'll be okay. Okay?"

"B-but-" Romano worried his lip, starting to hyperventilate.

"Italy, look at me." America cupped his chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. "I wouldn't let you do it on your own if I didn't think you had it down, okay? You don't need me to catch you. You're doing great. You can _do_ this." He stated, radiating confidence. Romano held his gaze for a moment, and exhaled, nodding.

"I can do this."

"Damn right." America affirmed, releasing his chin to swat his shoulder. "Get out there and show 'em how it's done, Italy."

"I will!"

"Kick some ass!" America cheered, stepping out of his way.

"Just watch me, bastard!" Romano answered, kicking off. A few smooth strokes, a glide, and without even really thinking about it, he twisted his hips, shifting his center of gravity, shaving the ice and- executed a perfect stop. He blinked down at his skates for a few moments, scarcely able to believe it.

"Yahoo!" America cheered again, shimmying in a victory dance. "You did it, Italy! Way to go!"

"Of course I did, bastard!" Romano crowed, hands on his hips. "I'm _Romano Italy_, dammit! There's _nothing_ I can't do!"

"Haha, well now you've mastered Canadian ice." America grinned, skating up to where he stood. "So whattya wanna do now?"

"I want to get the fuck off this ice and get some dinner." Romano decided, realizing how late it was.

"Yeah, I'm pretty hungry myself." America admitted, and pulled out his cell. "I should call Canada and have him pick me up. Hey, you wanna come to dinner? My brother makes great food."

"I don't know." Romano frowned, considering it. "Will there be pasta?"

"I can ask." America answered, waiting for his brother to pick up. "Hey, Canada! Where are you? That's great, I'm done here. You wanna swing by and pick me up? No, I walked. Well, I could, but I'm lazy. Hey, what are you making for dinner? Can you do some pasta? Mhm. One sec." He covered the mouthpiece and turned to Romano, "Do you think your brother and Germany would want to come, too?"

Romano shrugged. "You can ask. Is there pasta?"

"He can do pasta. You have a preference?"

"_Good_ pasta."

America rolled his eyes. "What kind of pasta do we have, Canada?" He covered the mouthpiece again. "He says at short notice he can do chicken scar-, scarpa-, uh, sec. What was that again?" He asked Canada. Romano rolled his own eyes.

"Scarpariello?"

"Yeah, that." America nodded, relieved. "Chicken scarpa-thingy, and Orec...Orashetty?"

"Orecchiette?" Romano supplied, wincing at America's pronunciation.

"Yeah, with maple sausage, which you totally have to have if you haven't. You comin'?"

"Eh." Romano shrugged. "But if it's not edible, I'm leaving."

"Canada's a great cook." America reassured him. "You'll like it. Hang on a sec, Canada, I'm gonna see if Germany and the miniature Italy wanna come, too." He looked around. "You see your brother, Italy?"

"No, but I can find him." Romano cupped his mouth. "OI, VENEZIANO! _FREE PASTA_!"

"YAY! PASTA!" Came an echo from the shore, and soon North Italy was skating towards them, dragging a surprised Germany behind. "Ve~, Romano, where's the pasta? You said pasta, right? I heard pasta!"

"You heard pasta." Romano confirmed, gesturing to America. "The American bastard wants us to come to his brother's place for dinner. Chicken scarpariello and orecchiette with maple sausage."

"And tomatoes?" Veneziano asked eagerly. They turned to America.

"Canada. Tomatoes?" He listened for a moment, and nodded. "Sun dried and fresh- roma and cherry."

The Italians shared a glance, and nodded. "We're in." Romano said.

"Germany?" America asked, glancing at the other blond over his phone. "There's also maple-glazed ham and roast potatoes and vegetables for the non-pasta fanatics."

"That sounds very good. Thank you for the invitation, America." Germany nodded, having finally caught up to what was going on. Italy dragging him out onto the lake in the middle of his conversation with the beverage vendor about the cider-making process had been somewhat disorienting.

"Yes, thank you!" Veneziano echoed, smiling.

"No problem guys. Glad to have you over." America grinned, and turned his attention back to his phone. "That's two Italys and one Germany, Canada. Uhhuh. Sweet. I dunno, I'll ask. Sec." Hey guys, you wanna ride with me and Canada, or drive separately? We can drive you back to your hotel afterwards if you think you'll be drinking. Or you can stay the night if you'd like, Canada's got room."

"We can-"

"We'll ride with you and your brother, thank you." Germany interjected, cutting across South Italy's attempt to insist that he would drive. He knew from experience that the Italy brothers would be drunk before the evening had passed, if Canada's wine was any good, which would force him to be designated driver for the evening, which in turn inevitably resulted in a fight, since _neither_ Italy liked to relinquish the driver's seat, intoxicated or not.

"'Kay. Yep, we're all with you, Canada. Yeah. See you soon!" Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he turned to grin at the others, gesturing towards the shore to indicate that they return, and the others followed his lead. "Great! He'll be here in five, so we should probably head for the lot."

Once on the bank, the other nations unlaced their skates while America fetched their shoes from the back of Germany's rental (it turned out Germany had retrieved Romano's boots from where they lay and placed them in the car with his own and North Italy's), and they made their way to the parking lot, arriving just as Canada pulled up.

After Canada put his foot down about America trying to take over the driver's seat and a brief argument about seating arrangements (Romano didn't want to sit anywhere near Germany, and so ended up riding shotgun), everyone was settled peacefully in the car and on they were underway.

Relatively peacefully, anyway.

"How was your Maple Festival, Canada?" America asked, leaning forward to poke his brother from the backseat. "Boring? I bet it was totally boring."

"Just because there wasn't any snake wrestling doesn't make it boring, America." Canada sighed. "Not all festivals have to end in explosions, you know."

"Just the good ones." America grinned, poking his brother again.

"Actually, the lecture on native maple tree varieties and hybrids was quite fascinating." Germany offered, and Romano snorted in response.

"Do you think so?" Canada asked, shyly pleased at the praise.

"Yes. I also found it particularly interesting that the syrup collection process was originally taught to settlers by the native peoples. I was unaware that it had predated North America's colonisation."

"Oh, yes." Canada beamed. "They didn't use it to make syrup, since they had no way to store it, but they did drink the sap and make several maple-"

"_Ca-Na-Daa_ that's so _boring!_" America groaned, leaning his forehead against the back of the driver's seat in mock-agony. "The only interesting thing about maple trees is syrup, and you don't need to waste a festival on lectures about syrup. _Everyone _knows how to make syrup. Stab a tree, make it bleed. Bam! Syrup. Festivals should be about _eating_. And wrestling things, and rides, and explosions."

"Not everyone is five years old, America." Canada responded, rolling his eyes. "And stop _poking_ me, I'm trying to drive."

"But I'm _bored!_" America answered, poking him again. "And you're poke-able."

"Maple help me America, I will pull this car over and throw you out on the ice, I swear it." Canada threatened.

"You should really stop poking your brother, America." Germany agreed. "He needs his concentration to drive safely."

"Nah, he'll be okay, I do this all the time." America said dismissively, poking Canada again. Canada growled.

"Why do you keep poking your brother, America? That's mean!" Veneziano piped up.

"No it isn't!" America defended. "He's my little brother, it's my _job_ to harass him. Besides, he really is poke-able. Here, feel!" He insisted, poking Canada again. The Italian nation leaned forward, joining in.

"Ve~, you're right! His cheeks are so soft!" North Italy marvelled, prodding Canada's cheek. Germany facepalmed, sighing tiredly.

"I know, right?" America smiled, proud of his brother's poke-ableness. "He's just the cutest lil thing!"

"Germany, brother, poke him too! Poke Canada! He's so soft!"

"Please don't." Canada sighed, and Germany reached out to pull North Italy's hand away from the other nation's face.

"You shouldn't poke people unless they ask you to." Germany scolded.

"Ve~, but, he's so soft!" Veneziano protested. "You really should see!"

"Be that as it may, he doesn't want to be poked." Germany answered. "At the very least, you shouldn't poke him while he's driving. It's dangerous."

"But America's doing it!"

"I totally am." America agreed, and Canada slapped his hand.

"Damn it, America, I'm trying to drive! Play with Kumakichi if you're so bored!" He scolded gently, scooping up his bear and depositing Kumajiro in the back seat.

"Kumajiro!" America exclaimed, taking the bear in his arms. "How's my stinky bear?"

"Says the guy who smells like hamburgers all the time." Kumajiro responded, snuffling at America's neck.

"I just groomed him, he should smell fine." Canada said.

"You're right!" America answered, burying his nose in the bear's fur. "Mmmm, he smells like maple syrup. Delicious. I could eat him right up. I could eat you, Kumabear!"

"Don't eat my bear." Canada warned mildly.

"Ve~, don't eat the bear, America! He's so cute! Isn't he cute, Germany?"

"He is." Germany agreed, watching the bear interestedly.

"You wanna pet him?" America offered, holding out the bear. Both other nations eagerly leaned forward to ruffle Kumajiro's fur.

"Awww, he's so cuuute!" Veneziano enthused, rubbing a round bear ear.

"His name is Kumakichi?" Germany asked, scratching under Kumajiro's chin, blushing slightly at the adorableness of the bear.

"Kumakon." Canada answered.

"Kuma_jiro_, Canada. His name is _Kumajiro_."

"Oh, right. Sorry, Kumajiro." Canada apologized sheepishly.

"Who are you?" Answered Kumajiro, nuzzling into Germany's hand and pawing North Italy's cheek as they stroked his fur. Canada sighed.

"You're so cute, Kumajiro! That's such a cute name!" Veneziano giggled, squeezing the bear.

"He's just a bear." Romano protested, jealous that he didn't get to pet the bear, whatever its name was. He hadn't even noticed it sleeping on the floor next to Canada's feet earlier. "I don't see what's so special about a dumb bear."

"Kumajiro's not dumb! He's a very smart bear!" His brother protested, rubbing his face in white fur. "You're a very smart bear, aren't you?"

"I dunno about that." America said. "I mean, he's pretty good at crossword puzzles, but he sucks at long division."

"I don't need math, I'm a bear." Kumajiro said, rolling on his back and waving his paws in the air to up his cute factor. Both Germany and Italy melted at the sight, eagerly rubbing his fuzzy bear tummy.

"That's right, you don't need to worry about nasty math or any of that stupid education stuff." America agreed, playing with a paw. "Daddy takes good care of you."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence." Canada said.

"No, silly, _I'm_ daddy. _You're_ the _mommy._ You're way too girly to be the daddy. Isn't that right, Kumajiro?"

"America..."

"Uh oh, daddy's in trouble. Guess I'm sleeping on the couch tonight." America spoke conversationally to Kumajiro. "Now remember, Kuma-bear, just because mommy and daddy fight sometimes doesn't mean we don't love you. You see, it's just that mommy gets _very irritable_ at a certain time during the month, because-"

"_Alfred F. Jones._" Canada growled darkly, gripping the wheel tightly in his hands. America cringed.

"_Oh shit."_ He hissed, plucking Kumajiro up from where he sprawled across three laps to the best of his ability, holding him in front of himself as a shield from Canada's anger. "Save me, Kumajiro!"

"Daddy's been cheating on mommy with an Italy." Kumajiro deadpanned.

Canada and America blinked simultaneously. Then Canada snorted, and they both dissolved into chuckles.

"I swear, you two are _insane_." He sighed, smiling with exasperated affection at his brother and pet in the rearview mirror. "I don't know which one of you is a worse influence on the other."

"You know you love us, Canada. You can't help it, you dig crazies." America smiled back, nuzzling Kumajiro's fur. "Me and Kuma keep you from getting too sane!"

"_I_ didn't cheat with America." Veneziano offered helpfully. "It must have been brother." In the front seat, Romano banged his head against the dashboard.

"_Veneziano_."

"Are you alright?" Canada asked, wincing on his behalf.

"We're not actually together." America informed North Italy, deeply amused. "I was just messin' around."

"Ve~, you were just messing around with brother?" Veneziano frowned, confused.

"_Chigi!_ _Veneziano!_" Romano snapped, turning around in his seat to flail at his brother, who cowered behind Germany (who was busy pretending he wasn't in a car with a bunch of crazy nations). "I _wasn't messing around with America, _dammit! We were _skating_, that's _all!_ And America and Canada aren't together, they were just _playing a game_, you _idiot_!"

"Ohhh." Veneziano nodded, understanding dawning. "So nothing happened between you and America?"

"_No!"_

"That's right." America nodded, lips twitching. "I mean, he totally touched my balls, but I didn't like it much."

"That was an _accident, _dammit! And don't tell him things like that, he'll misunderstand!"

"Romano touched your balls and you didn't like it?" Veneziano asked incredulously, ready to be offended on his brother's behalf.

"Well, he was a little rough."

"Romano's _never-"_

"I _kneed_ him in the balls by _accident_, dammit. But if he doesn't shut up I'll do it again, on purpose this time." Romano growled.

"America, stop teasing our guests." Canada scolded mildly.

"Sorry, sorry." America smiled sheepishly, resting his chin on Kumajiro's head. "I got a little carried away. My bad. I'll behave. I'm just excited 'cause it's been a long time since we've had people over for dinner."

"It has." Canada agreed. "So try not to scare them off by being a total spazz, eh?"

Sticking his tongue out at his brother, America turned to his seat companions. "So what brings you guys up Canada-way, anyway?"

"Ve~, well, I had some business in Canada last year, and Germany and I liked it so much here that we decided to take vacation here this year!"

"Th-that's very kind of you." Canada blushed happily. "I'd be happy to show you around if you'd like."

"You should totally take him up on that." America suggested, squeezing Kumajiro's paws. "He'll let you ride his polar bears."

"Ohhh, I want to ride the polar bears!" Veneziano clapped his hands eagerly. "I want to, I do!"

"Is it safe?" Germany wondered, intrigued.

"What could possibly be dangerous about riding a bear?" America grinned. "C'mon, Germany."

"It won't be dangerous if I'm there." Canada reassured him.

"How about it Italy, up for some bear riding?" America asked, leaning over the seat to poke Romano. "You like rides, right?"

"Don't bears eat people?" Romano asked, swatting his hand away. "And don't poke me, asshole!"

"Not if Canada's there! You can ride with me, I'll make sure you don't get eaten, 'kay? You should totally come!"

"Ehh..." Romano hesitated.

"Come on, brother! We can ride the bears together! I want to ride the bears with you, too!" Veneziano pleaded, giving his brother puppy eyes.

"Auugh, dammit, okay! I'll come." Romano caved, unable to withstand his brother's eyes. "But if I get eaten, I'm holding you responsible, dammit." He warned America.

"You won't get eaten, I promise!" America reassured him. "I'll keep you safe. Riding bears is awesome, you'll see!"

"I'm going to die on a bear with a maniac." Groaned Romano, face in his hands.

* * *

_AN: It ends abruptly, 'cause this is the first half of what was turning into an insanely long chapter, and I need to work on EA and a one-shot while I still have some weekend left._

_If there is one thing I have learned from teaching martial arts and...well, any physical activity really, is 1. Don't Pull on Someone Who's Not Ready. Your balls will thank you. _

_2. Wear a cup._

_Some additional notes- Canada! So I was looking up Maple Syrup Festivals, for reasons actually unrelated to this fic, and all the ones I found for Canada were 6 hours long__, had a pancake breakfast and maple syrup/tree-related lectures, which sounded interesting to me because I am a nerd but also, kind of boring for a festival. The search also turned up American Maple Syrup Festivals, which almost invariably lasted a few days and often featured things like Reptile Shows, beauty contests, Elvis Impersonators, a series of live bands, hay rides, bonfires, and vast arrays of maple-related foods and drinks and things to eat on sticks, things like that- which also intrigued me, because I am American and know that to have a festival you need to wrestle shit, sing and dance and set something on fire. _

_Or it's not a festival._

_No offense, Canadians. You're still cute as the bloody dickens. _

_It's canon that Canada cannot remember Kumajiro's name properly. _

_And bears- it is now my headcanon that the myth about Canadians riding polar bears got started 'cause Canada Rides Polar Bears. Because he is Awesome Like That. _


	3. Prussian Pajamas

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia**

_Short and pointless, but I want to get a post up so I can feel like I've accomplished something! Ahh, posting withdrawals, you plague me so. As usual, no plot, no purpose other than catharsis, and basically free-flow formation. _

_You've been warned!_

* * *

"Alright, we're here." Canada said, pulling into the driveway of a rather nice Victorian-style house. "Dinner will be ready in about an hour." He added as they entered the house. "America will show you where everything is, please make yourselves at home. Let us know if there's anything you need, eh?"

"Would you like some help with dinner, Canada?" Veneziano offered.

"It's alright, I can handle it." Canada reassured him. "You're my guest, Italy. Just make yourself comfortable, eh?"

"Ve~, but I'd like to help! I love to cook." Veneziano insisted. "Cooking is very comfortable! And there's so many of us for dinner, I'm sure you could use the help!"

"Ah, well, if you'd really like to, I'd be grateful for the help." Canada admitted. "Thank you, that's very thoughtful of you."

"Hey, how come he gets to help? You never let _me_ help." America whined.

Canada rolled his eyes. "If I let you help, there wouldn't be a dinner to _serve_. You always end up eating everything before it's cooked, America."

"You're _supposed_ to sample the food when you cook! I watched it on a cooking show!"

"_Sample_, not 'eat it all'." Canada sighed, relenting when his brother pouted. "I'll call you in to carve the meat and set the table, okay? You can help that way."

"Okay!" America agreed, cheering. "Sounds good."

"In the meantime, why don't you show our guests around? Veneziano and I will bring out some drinks and hors d'œuvres in a few minutes." Canada directed him, and turned to Veneziano. "Why don't you come with me? I'll show you the kitchen."

After a quick tour, the three non-culinarily-engaged nations ended up sitting at the counter separating the sitting room from the kitchen, watching the other two prepare dinner while they indulged in the appetizers Canada had laid out for them.

"Why don't you go watch TV or play in the gameroom or something? Watching us cook can't be that interesting." Canada suggested, busy dicing celery for some unknown purpose when they settled onto the barstools at the counter.

"I like to watch you cook, Canada!" America answered, popping the top on his can of soda. "You take all this random stuff and turn it into food! It's like magic, but edible."

"I agree." Germany contributed, always ready to watch an artisan at work. "It's very interesting."

"See? It's dinner and a show!" America grinned. Canada blushed and stuck his tongue out at his brother.

"Che." Romano scoffed, nibbling on an olive. "I'm just making sure they aren't gonna fuck up the food."

"Romano likes to watch me cook 'cause he gets to sample the food." Feliciano whispered confidentially to Canada, and Canada laughed.

"America does that too." He admitted. "In fact-" he added, with a smile and a wink, "watch this." With a flick of his wrist and a twist of the knife, he sent a cube of chicken from a nearby bowl arcing through the air towards his brother, who was digging through a bowl of mixed nuts to find all the peanuts. Without looking up, the American caught the chicken in his mouth and swallowed it. Then he licked his lips thoughtfully, and wrinkled his nose.

"Was that even cooked?"

"No." Answered Canada, and America shrugged a shoulder, unconcerned.

"Ve~, he didn't even look up! How did he know it was coming?" Veneziano wondered.

"I don't know." Canada answered, resuming his dicing. "It only works with food, though. See?" This time he flipped the cork from a bottle of cooking wine towards his brother, and it bounced off his forehead, landing on the countertop near his elbow. This time America looked up, and blinked down at it.

"Hey." He protested mildly. "What was that for?"

"Don't pick all the peanuts out of the mixed nuts, eh?" Canada admonished.

"But they're the best part." America responded, returning to his task excavating peanuts from the depths of the bowl.

"If you wanted peanuts, you should have opened the peanuts instead of the mixed nuts." Canada chided, setting aside the celery and moving on to the tomatoes.

"The ones in the mixed nuts taste better." America said, and pushed the bowl aside, having rescued all the peanuts.

"I want to try~." Veneziano whispered eagerly to Canada. "Can I throw something at America too?"

"Sure." Canada smiled. "Just try and make sure it's a solid. Liquids get messy."

Biting his lip in anticipation, North Italy picked a cherry tomato from a bowl, and tossed it gingerly towards America, who leaned forward apparently on instinct to catch it with a 'snap', despite being engrossed with his peanut hoard. Veneziano clapped his hands and giggled, tickled pink.

Thus the dinner preparations went; Canada and North Italy chopped and diced and stirred, sauteed, boiled and mixed, tossing the occasional tidbit America's way for the fun of it. Finally, dinner was almost ready, and-

"America, don't play with your peanuts." Canada directed, finally noticing the peanut fort his brother had been constructing on the countertop. America scooped them up obligingly, and nudged Kumajiro with his foot. The bear looked up from where he sat near America's feet.

"Want some peanuts, Kuma?" America offered.

"Honey roasted?" Kumajiro asked, scenting the air.

"Just salted."

"Bah, no thanks. I'll take some beer, though." Kumajiro responded, standing on his hind legs to place a paw on Germany's knee.

"Kuma, stop harassing our guests." Canada ordered, dropping some butter into a pan. "You-"

"Ah, no, its alright." Germany assured him, and patted Kumajiro's head. "Does he drink beer?"

Canada blinked at him over his shoulder, a little surprised. "Ah...yes, he does. A little."

"Can you drink from the bottle, or do you need a bowl?" Germany asked Kumajiro, who lay his head on Germany's knee, letting him scratch behind his ears.

"Bottle me." Kumajiro growled happily, reaching up with both paws. Germany scooped the miniature bear into his lap, tipping his bottle so Kumajiro could drink from it. The two North American nations exchanged a surprised glance, but the Italys seemed unfazed. Romano only rolled his eyes.

"He does the same thing with his dogs." Veneziano explained, smiling fondly at the nation cradling the small bear.

Romano grumbled under his breath and slipped off his stool, taking along the plate of olives he'd pretty much been bogarting and carrying it to sit on the other side of America, the furthest he could get from Germany and the fuzzball while staying at the counter.

"Peanut?" America offered when Romano'd settled onto the stool next to him.

"No thanks, bastard." Romano answered, wrinkling his nose. "I've seen what you've been doing with those."

"I didn't do anything weird." America shrugged. "Besides, it's not much different than what they're doing to what we're going to be eating."

"I heard that." Canada interjected from where he stood at the stove, glancing back over a shoulder at his brother, who stuck out his tongue.

"Playing with your food is not the same as cooking." Romano asserted, popping another olive into his mouth. "Besides, I don't want anything your hands have been all over anywhere near my mouth."

America glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and reached out to poke Romano's cheek.

"What the fuck?" Romano protested, slapping his hand away and wiping the spot with the back of his hand. "What was that for, bastard?"

"Just givin' you my cooties." America smiled, tossing back another peanut.

"I don't need your damn cuties." Romano grumbled, hazarding a guess. "I'm already cute as fuck. _Way_ cuter than you, bastard."

"True, but I said 'cooties', not 'cuties'." America informed him. "They're like, germs."

"Gah, _euch_." Romano grabbed a napkin from the counter and scrubbed at his cheek. America snickered.

"I don't think that's gonna cut it, Italy." He teased. "I've been touching you all day. You're pretty thoroughly contaminated." His grin widened, and he spread his arms wide. "You've been Americanized!"

"I need a shower." Romano groaned, letting his head fall onto the countertop.

"Aw, c'mon Italy, it's not that bad." America continued, throwing his arm around the Italian's shoulders. "You just got _awesome_!"

"I'll show _you_ awesome!" Romano countered, turning to slap a hand over the American's grinning face. His other hand soon followed, and he rubbed them all over the blond's face, straining up in his seat to ruffle his hair. "Take that, bastard!"

"H-hey!" Was America's muffled protest, "What-"

"You just got _Italicized_." Romano smirked, settling back on his stool and crossing his arms victoriously.

"Haha!" America laughed, smoothing his hair back into place and adjusting Texas. He blinked, going crosseyed to look at the lenses, and pulled them off to wipe the smudges with his shirt. "Can't say that's never happened before."

"Oh man." Canada agreed wholeheartedly, turning around to wave his spatula in the air, "You remember that phase you went through for a couple years in the '20's when you-"

"_Canada_." America whined urgently, slouching down in his seat and blushing deeply. "Don't tell them about that. _Please_."

Canada grinned wickedly at having the upper hand, gesturing with the spatula. "You know, I have _pictures_..."

America's eyes widened, and he pointed accusingly at his brother. "You said you burned those!"

"I said I burned _pictures_." Canada smiled at him innocently. "I didn't say _which_."

"You _bastard_." America breathed, and they spent a few seconds locked in a staring match, Canada's smile growing increasingly gleeful and America's eyes more pleading by the moment. Finally America slumped against the countertop with a groan. "_Fine._ What do you want?"

"Mmm...let me think about it." Canada tilted his head thoughtfully, relishing his moment of victory. "I think I'll keep it as an open favour. I'll give you the pictures when I cash it in."

America narrowed his eyes. "Nothing political. Personal only. And I reserve the right to refuse, within reason."

"That sounds fair." Canada agreed, bouncing on his toes before he returned to his cooking, humming happily.

"I just got screwed." America confided morosely to the others. "He's gonna hold that over me _forever_, and when he cashes it in it's gonna _hurt_."

"Your own damn fault, moron." Romano failed to comfort him, lips twitching in amusement at the other's predicament.

"Yeah, I shoulda burned them _myself_." America nodded, resting his chin in his hand and sulking. "That'll teach me to trust that innocent-looking face. Little brothers suck."

This time Romano did sympathize, patting him on the shoulder. "I hear ya, bastard."

"Older brothers are not necessarily exempt from 'sucking'." Germany said wryly.

America looked at him curiously. "You have an older brother?"

"Several." Germany replied, "But one in particular can be quite...troublesome."

"Yeah?"

"Prussia." Romano elaborated for him.

"Uh..."

"France's friend, the one who always comes over with France and Spain." Canada supplied, tasting the sauce he was stirring. "Do you think it needs more garlic?" He asked Veneziano, dipping a spoon into the sauce and holding it out for him to try. Veneziano sipped it thoughtfully.

"Mm, maybe a little? Romano, what do you think?" He asked, taking the spoon from Canada and crossing the kitchen to offer it to his brother. Romano tasted it, rolling the sauce around his tongue with a pensive frown.

"Enough garlic. More oregano." He ordered, licking his lips. "And tomatoes."

"_Oh_. Oh!" The penny finally dropped in America's brain. "The noisy one who always grabs your ass?"

"..." Canada responded with an embarrassed blush, sprinkling a little more fresh oregano into the sauce.

"Y'know, I think he likes you." America added conversationally, leaning on the counter.

"N-no way." Canada protested, blush deepening. "Prussia's just messing around, eh? Whenever France gets together with his friends they all...behave that way."

"He has a point." Romano agreed. "France and Prussia grope _everything_. They're a bad influence on Spain, dammit."

"Ve~, Spain gropes people too, Romano." Veneziano said.

"Only 'cause France and Prussia are doing it." Romano defended staunchly, crossing his arms. "He'll do anything he sees them do, 'cause he's kind of an idiot. If it weren't for them he'd get into a lot less trouble."

"They never grope me." America contributed."I mean, Spain jumps me sometimes but he's just trying to knock me down. France and the noisy one, Per-, uh...?"

"Prussia." Canada said.

"Yeah, him. They never touch me. Plus Prussia's the only one who gropes you when they're all here together, and he's always asking you to make him pancakes or trying on your clothes or smelling your hair and hanging on you and stuff, and I'm pretty sure he's the one who stole your lucky underwear out of the dryer the last time they were here."

"I don't think those were stolen, America. I probably just lost them behind something." Canada protested.

Germany shifted uncomfortably. "They, ah, wouldn't happen to be white boxers covered in small, red maple leaves?"

"...Er, yes." Canada admitted, blushing deeper.

"Oh, Prussia loves those!" Veneziano smiled in recognition, oblivious to Canada and Germany's embarrassment. "He wears them to bed every night, since about a year ago! He said they're his new pajamas so he can have sweet dreams!"

"There, see? Totally likes you." America gloated. "You should go for it, Canada!"

Canada mumbled some unintelligible protests as he poured the sauce into a large bowl, wishing he had somewhere to hide.

"I hope your brother's into S&M." America said to Germany, causing Romano to choke on his olive and Canada to drop the (thankfully empty) pot he was holding. Germany stammered, blushing deeply. "'Cause-"

"_America_." Canada interrupted, both hands covering his face to hide his humiliation. "I am going to-"

"Prussia is!" Veneziano piped up helpfully. "He has a huge collection of-"

"_Italy_." Germany interrupted firmly, his free hand also covering his face. "_No_."

"Ve~, but-"

"We don't need to know, Veneziano." Romano said hoarsely, having managed to swallow the olive temporarily lodged in his throat. He turned to kick America, hard. "And thank _you_ for that mental image, you fucking bastard. I don't need to know what perverted potato bastards do in their spare time. You could have _ruined_ my appetite, dammit."

"Oh, sorry Italy." America said, smiling apologetically. "I was just trying to help my brother out. He's way too shy, so he has trouble with this sort of thing. I really think he should go for it. You should totally do it, Canada!" He called to his brother. "He sounds perfect for you!"

"He's right." Kumajiro piped up, pulling back from the bottle and licking his lips. "I like Prussia. He gives me wurst."

"Thank you kindly for your interest in my love life." Canada gritted out, smile twitching, setting a dish down with rather more force than was strictly necessary. "I'll take the matter under advisement."

"That means he's going to poison my pancakes, doesn't it?" America whispered to Kumajiro.

"Yup." Kumajiro said, and burped. "S'cuse me."

"Oh well." America shrugged resignedly. "Worth it he finally does something about that stupid crush he's had for like, ever."

"America." Said Canada, checking the oven. "You want to grab the tablecloth and napkins from the linen closet and set the table, please?"

"Sure thing!" America hopped off his stool. "Which set?"

"The Irish linen, please. And the china from the china cabinet in the dining room."

America paused, dismayed. "...The rose-patterned stuff? That's all, you know, like...super breakable?"

"Mhm." Canada confirmed, prepping the sink to soak the pots and pans they'd used. "Those."

America bit his lip. "You sure you don't want to use the stuff with the maple leaves on 'em?" He offered hopefully. "It's very Canadian."

"The rose china, Alfred." Canada carefully dried his hands on his apron. "And I know I don't have to worry that you might break any of it. After all, that wouldn't be very heroic, would it?" He smiled softly at his brother.

"Y-yeah. I mean, no, it wouldn't. And I won't." America agreed with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his head. "I'll just...go do that, then. Not do that. I mean, I'll set the table, and not break the china."

"Germany, brother, why don't you both go help America set the table, ve~?" Veneziano suggested, smiling sweetly at them both. Germany nodded, setting the now-empty bottle on the counter and setting Kumajiro on the floor with a pat on the head.

Romano opened his mouth to protest, but Veneziano anticipated this. "The sooner the table is set, the sooner you'll be able to eat." He reminded Romano, pre-empting his brother's complaints. Romano closed his mouth with a frown.

"Alright." He slipped off his stool, grabbing a few olives for the road before following the taller blonds out of the room. "But only 'cause I'm hungry, dammit."

"Thank you~." Veneziano sang after them. "Don't forget to wash up afterwards!"

"Everything's done but dessert." Canada took serving dishes out of the cupboard, laying them on the island in the middle of the kitchen to be filled. "Thank you so much for all your help, Italy. I really appreciate it."

"It's been a lot of fun cooking with you!" Veneziano smiled, ladling the orecchiette into a dish. "I like cooking with friends!"

Canada smiled shyly, artfully arranging fresh cherry tomatoes around another pasta dish. "It is kind of nice. I don't often cook with other people, eh? France sometimes, but he usually takes over the kitchen when he visits."

Veneziano nodded. He didn't often cook with France, since the other country tended to visit Spain or Italy when he wanted to be cooked _for, _but France did have a tendency to dominate the kitchen when he felt like cooking. "I cook with brother sometimes, and sometimes Prussia... 'helps', but usually it's just me. I like cooking with you, Canada~. You're very nice!"

"Th-thank you." Canada blushed. "I like cooking with you too, Italy." They worked for a few moments in companionable silence. "Is your brother a good cook, too?" Canada asked, shyly attempting a conversation.

"Romano's very good." Veleziano assured him. "But he doesn't cook very often. Usually he prefers to watch, 'cause he likes it when I cook for him. Sometimes though, he decides to cook, and then he tends to take over the kitchen, too. But he's a very, very good cook! I love it when brother makes pasta, ve~. Does America cook?"

Canada paused, taken aback by the question. Usually people took it as given that America's culinary skills rivaled England's for turning a kitchen into a disaster area. "Well," he said diplomatically, "it's hard to say. He doesn't have much experience in the kitchen. He doesn't have much interest in learning how to cook, usually. And he likes to experiment, so, when he _does_ cook he tends to stray from the recipe, and...well, sometimes it turns out, and sometimes it doesn't, and sometimes it explodes." He bit his lip, and tilted his head thoughtfully. "But," Canada conceded after a moment, "he can do amazing things with meat, if you're not looking for _haute cuisine_. And don't mind large portions." He added, grinning. "But usually, he leaves the cooking to me, or opts for fast food."

"Do you think America will break the china?" Veneziano wondered. "We don't mind regular dishes, ve~. It would be bad if your china broke."

"Oh, no, no." Canada demurred, waving his hands to assuage the Italian's concern. "He won't, it's okay. I was just, ah, teasing him, eh? America's just a little anxious about handling fragile things ever since he thought he broke a vase France gave me a while back."

"He _thought_ he broke it?" Veneziano asked curiously, licking sauce from his fingers. "He didn't really?"

Canada shook his head. "It was already broken. Two big pieces. I'd pieced it together and set it on the counter over there to find some glue, and while I was doing that he came in and picked it up to look at it, and it fell apart in his hands and shattered on the floor. He thought he'd broken it by holding it wrong. I was going to tell him, but," He smiled a little sheepishly, rubbing his neck, "he apologized so much that I couldn't get a word in, and he was so sorry about it that it was kind of cute, so I decided to wait for a little bit. And then he was so careful with my things afterward, that I decided to just...let it be. He used to break a lot of my things, eh?" He explained, putting the now-empty pots and pans into the sink to soak, "But since then, nothing. It's kind of nice. And it gives me something to tease him about." That made Veneziano giggle, and Canada grinned at him in little-brotherly comraderie.

"Okay." He said, setting aside his apron and lifting several serving dishes, balancing them expertly, "I think we're ready to serve, don't you?"

"Mhm!" Veneziano copied his actions, discarding his apron and siezing the pasta dishes. "I'm ready, ve~!"

"Well then, beauty first, eh?" With a courtly bow and a wink, Canada gestured for the North Italy to proceed him, the consummate coquet despite his burden. Giggling, Veneziano scampered ahead, glancing over his shoulder ocassionally to titter and giggle as France's little boy followed him to the dining room.

* * *

_AN: Next time- where/how **did **Canada get Kumajiro? It's storytime!_


	4. Bear Stories

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

_It's rough. Still no plot as far as I can see, but I'm not terribly concerned about that at this point._

_Also, I am a tease. _

* * *

After dinner they retired to the sitting room for drinks and dessert. America lit a fire in the huge stone fireplace, while Canada passed out plates of raspberry cheesecake and filled crystal flutes with pale, golden wine.

_"Eiswein."_ Germany recognized with some surprise, upon his first sip.

"Yes, it is." Canada acknowledged with a shy smile as he poured the last glass (his own), confessing, "I'm rather proud of it, actually. The climate here is particularly suited to the production of ice wines." He checked to make sure his guests were served and settled comfortably before seating himself. "It may not be quite the same as those produced in Germany, but I hope you'll enjoy it, eh?"

"I'm not an expert on wine." Germany admitted (Romano snorted, and Veneziano nodded in unconscious agreement). "I'm more accustomed to beer. I can recognize different types of wine, but that is the limit of my skills."

"Oh?" Canada asked interestedly. "Ice wine was first produced in Germany, wasn't it?"

"Actuall-"

"Fuck no." Romano interrupted Germany's response, scowling. "_Rome_ was the first producer of ice wine. This bastard's country didn't start making it until _centuries_ later."

"This is true." Germany nodded, unfazed by the interruption, being well-accustomed to South Italy's behaviour. "Although Germany was the first to produce it commercially."

"As if that matters." Romano scoffed, viciously forking his cheesecake. "It's not like you know jack shit about wines anyway, bastard. You-"

"_Mmmmmm~_." Veneziano moaned breathily into the crystal flute he held pressed to parted lips, and opened his eyes to flutter his lashes as if awakening from a reverie. "_Ohhh_." He licked his lips, and smiled at Canada. "This is a beautiful wine, Canada!" He effused, and turned to lean against his brother, who was seated next to him on the couch. "Have you tasted it, Romano?" He held his glass to Romano's lips. "You have to taste it, ve~! Try some, brother~!"

"Don't get so close. I have my own glass, idiot." Romano muttered, blushing as he nudged his brother aside to reach for his own wine. He sipped it cautiously (not fully trusting wines from strange countries, especially ones as uncivilized as the Americas), and was pleasantly surprised to find that his brother was right. It _was_ a beautiful wine. Light, slightly floral, with just enough acidity to balance out the sweetness characteristic of dessert wines. He realized everyone in the room was watching him, and flushed self-consciously. "I-it's good." He allowed gruffly, and carefully set the glass down, avoiding everyone's gaze. Veneziano beamed at him, and turned back to his own dessert.

"You're welcome to have a few bottles, if you'd like." Canada glowed at the praise of two of the most experienced wine tasters in existence. "I'd love to send some along for you to take home with you."

"Really, Canada? That's so nice of you!" Veneziano effused, leaning against Germany, seated on his other side. "Isn't Canada nice?"

"Ah, yes. Very hospitable."

"It's my pleasure, really. I'm just happy you enjoyed it, eh?"

"Fuck yeah, flame on!" America cheered, throwing his arms in the air. He scrabbled to his feet from where he'd been kneeling in front of the fireplace a little ways away, brushing bits of tinder off of his jeans, and turned to join the others. "Man, I love making fire. Where's my cheesecake? Oh." Grabbing his plate from the coffeetable, he threw himself across an armchair, grinning widely in self-satisfaction at a job well done. "So what're we talking about?"

"Ve~, we were talking about Canada's wine!" Veneziano informed him helpfully.

"Oh." The blond looked a little nonplussed for a moment, and then shrugged, shovelling half his slice of cheesecake into his mouth. "Ah duh gknuh-"

"Oh my God Al, not with your mouth full." Canada scolded, exasperated. "_Maple_. You'd think you were raised by wolves."

His brother swallowed quickly, and grinned cheekily at him, shrugging a shoulder. "Close enough, anyway."

"Nothing wrong with being raised by wolves." South Italy muttered into his glass, under his breath.

"Right." America supported, shifting to sprawl in his seat, and balanced the rest of his cheesecake on his fork, too American to pretend he hadn't heard. "They're very convivial. Family-oriented." He stuffed the cheesecake in his mouth.

"You're right, that was an insult to wolves." Canada nodded semi-seriously. "They have better table manners." America made a face at him, but chewed with his mouth closed this time, and swallowed before he spoke next.

"Can I have s'more cheesecake? And some soda."

"It's in the kitchen, America. Help yourself." Canada answered, nibbling at his own dessert. "Bring a beer for Germany while you're up, please?"

"'Kay." America pushed himself up, sucking on his fork. "Anyone elff whant anyshing?"

"I'd like some more cheesecake, please~." Veneziano requested.

"More here, too." Romano hefted his almost-empty plate.

America returned bearing the entire cheesecake, a couple of beers for Germany, a carafe of coffee, a plate of cheese and crackers, and a bowl of ice cream. "Figured I'd cover all the bases." He explained as he set everything on the coffeetable. "The ice cream is for me, but I can get you some too if you want. I just didn't wanna bring the carton, 'cause it'd melt all over otherwise."

"I'm good, thank you." Veneziano smiled, serving his brother and himself a second helping of cheesecake, and cutting another for America. "Did you still want some cheesecake, America?"

"Yeah, just dump it in my bowl." America nudged his bowl closer to the cake, and Italy shrugged, dropping the cheesecake on top of the pile of ice cream. "Awesome, thanks."

"You're welcome~."

Scooping up his dessert, America plopped back into the armchair, and sipped his soda. Suddenly, Kumajiro's head popped over the armrest to growl, "Share."

Surprised, America snorted his beverage, and promptly went into a coughing fit. Grabbing for a napkin to mop himself up, he yelled hoarsely, "Holy crap, Kuma! Don't _do_ that!"

"Share." Kumajiro insisted, pawing at his arm.

"Yeah, fine." Having wiped himself off as best he could, America chucked the napkin into the fireplace and leaned over to scoop the bear into his lap. "C'mon, get on up here."

"America," Canada reminded him, frowning at the napkin now burning in the fire, "that was _linen_."

"Oh." America blinked at it, and grimaced sheepishly. "Sorry, Mattie. Force of habit."

Canada sighed. "Just don't do it again. And if you feed Kumabon dairy, he's sleeping with you tonight."

"Just a little won't hurt." America answered, feeding Kumajiro a chunk of cheesecake. "Besides, he'll be sleeping with me anyway. Right, Kumabear?"

"I don't want to sleep with you." The bear responded, licking the blond's fingers. "You hog the covers. And you'll cuddle me."

"I don't hog the covers." America disagreed. "It's just really cold. 'Sides, I thought you _liked_ cuddling, Kuma."

"Not during the winter. Give me some ice cream." Kumajiro nudged him, and explained, "My winter coat's in. Between that and your down comforter and your body heat, it's like sleeping in a furnace."

"Well, _fine_." America sulked, pushing the bear off his lap. "I'll just eat my ice cream and cheesecake by myself, and sleep alone and freeze to death, then."

Kumajiro blinked up at him, irritated at having been unceremoniously dislodged from his seat and deprived of his dessert. "Jerk." He growled, cuffing America's shin.

"Hearth rug." America retaliated, pushing him over with a foot.

Kumajiro scrabbled to his feet, tackling America's knee. "Burgers for brains!"

"Tough guy, eh?" America set his bowl aside and grabbed the bear's muzzle, shaking it playfully. "You wanna piece'a me, butterball?"

"Bring it, landmass." Kuamjiro growled, squirming out of his grasp to bounce from side to side, hackles raised.

"Oh, it's on." America reached out to ruffle thick white fur, boxing him back and forth. "Take that, chum bucket!"

"Brush ape!" Kumajiro pounced, gnawing his arm with miniature bear teeth.

"If you two are going to wrestle, please do it quietly." Canada admonished.

"Yeah, Kuma, be quiet." America echoed, tussling the bear around. "You're making too much noise, ya little cannonball."

"He was talking to you, fatty." Kumajiro rebuffed, smooshing the blond's face with a paw.

"Was not. And I'm not fat," America frowned, batting the paw away and pushing the bear's head down. "I'm just wearing layers. It's cold."

Kumajiro jammed his forepaws into the nation's stomach, kneading it deliberately. "Squish, squish, squish."

"Stop that! I'm not fat!"

"I'm a bear, I'm _supposed_ to put a layer of blubber for the winter. What's your excuse?"

"I'm not fat! I'll show you!" America pushed the bear off and stood, pulling off his shirt and sweater in one smooth movement, exposing a pale, but finely-sculpted torso. "See?"

"America, put your clothes back on right now!" Canada hissed, mortified. "We have _guests_!"

"We don't mind." Veneziano piped up cheerfully, sucking on his fork, and turned to Germany. "Do we, Germany."

Germany cleared his throat, and blushed, turning his attention to his plate.

"Fine." Sulking, America picked his clothes up off the floor and pulled them on. Once he was safely dressed, he threw himself into his chair, crossing his arms with a huff. "I'm not fat." He muttered defensively, reaching for his cheesecake.

"Kumajii's just trying to get a rise out of you." Canada shot the bear a reprimanding look, which he pretended to ignore. "You shouldn't let him get to you like that."

"You have a very nice body, America!" North Italy assured him with the shamelessness of an artist. "No fat at all!"

"Thanks!" America smiled, cheering up easily at the reassurance. "I work out alot."

"It shows." Veneziano tilted his head admiringly. "You're very well-built. Lots of muscles! Right, brother~?"

"D-don't ask me, idiot." Romano protested, blushing. "I was looking at the bear."

"So was-"

"Fuck, Kuma!" They glanced back over to see America and Kumajiro now covered with melted ice cream, Kumajiro having apparently accidentally overturned the bowl in America's hands when he jumped into his lap for a second time.

"It's okay, I can lick myself clean." Kumajiro twitched a dripping ear. A chunk of cheesecake tumbled down his nose, and his tongue flicked out to catch it, chewing with evident satisfaction.

"Yeah, but who's gonna lick me clean, huh?" America glanced around, sticky hands raised awkwardly, trying to figure out how to put down his now-empty bowl without dripping all over the upholstery or carpet. Romano's hand shot out to cover his brother's mouth, a fraction of a second faster than Germany's.

"Shower. Now. Both of you." Canada ordered, standing to take the bowl from his brother. America handed it to him gratefully, and gathered the gooey animal in his arms as he stood (partly so Kumajiro's fur would soak up some of the ice cream dribbling down his front, which would keep it from dripping on the rug and leading to a painful death at Canada's hands).

"Arright Kuma, let's go wash up." He sighed, leaving the room.

"And make sure he's dry before you two come back down here." Canada called after him. "Blowdryer's under the sink."

"'Kay~."

"Do you want some help, America~?" Veneziano peeled his brother's hand from his mouth to offer helpfully, turning around to lean over the back of the couch.

"Hm? Oh. Nah, it's okay. He's actually pretty easy to wash. Doesn't wiggle much." America hefted the bear in his arms with a smile. "I'll just take him in the shower with me and scrub 'im down. Thanks though!"

North Italy shrugged philosopically and sat back down. Canada grinned at him, amused, and turned to Germany.

"So is there anything you're particularly interested in doing or seeing during your vacation?" He asked, topping off his and the Italians' glasses (Germany was sticking to beer, his wine mostly untouched).

"Actually, I'd like very much to learn more about your indigenous people and their culture." Germany confessed, leaning forward in his seat. "The lecture we attended earlier mentioned very little, but it was most intriguing."

"We can do that." Canada nodded, already making plans. "America will be able to help with that, too; since we share a lot of native peoples. It's a pretty expansive subject, though, eh? How long is your vacation?"

"Three weeks, ve~!" North Italy contributed, adding interestedly, "Are we really going to ride your bears, Canada?"

"Sure thing, if you don't change your mind at the last minute, eh?" Canada teased, grinning.

"I won't!" Veneziano squirmed excitedly. "I really want to ride the bears!"

"You're sure it's safe, right bastard?" Romano wondered, visions of giant, man-eating bears clawing and rampaging across his mental landscape. "They won't eat me and Veneziano?"

"America did say we were especially delicious, ve~." His brother recalled, eyes sparkling impishly.

"I'm sure he did." Canada sighed resignedly, knowing his brother well. "As long as America and I are there, it'll be perfectly safe." He reassured them. "We've done it thousands of times, and we've never been eaten."

"Are they tame?" Germany inquired interestedly. "Is it possible to domesticate polar bears?"

"No, they're wild bears," Canada shook his head, "it's not really possible to domesticate a bear. If my brother and I weren't around, it would be very dangerous, because polar bears aren't generally used to seeing people, and so they don't really have any of the instinctual wariness that wild animals in more temperate areas which are used to living around humans might have. Anything smaller than they are would be considered prey— which for a polar bear is pretty much everything, eh? But, even bears raised in captivity are known to attack people. You'll be safe with us, but it's important to remember that bears are wild animals. You can take them home and teach them tricks and treat them like pets, but they're still wild. There's no such thing as a tame bear."

"Jeez Mattie, ease up. You trying to scare 'em off bear-riding?" America announced his presence by leaning over the back of the couch, towel draped over his head and water dripping from his skin. He nudged the others. "Don't worry guys, you'll be perfectly safe with us. Canada and I won't let anything happen to you."

"America..." Canada sighed deeply. "Please put some clothes on."

America glanced down at himself. "Oh, right, sorry. Forgot." Pulling the towel off his head, he wrapped it around his waist as he straightened, running a hand through damp, tousled hair. "I'll be right back. Kuma should be almost dry now, anyway."

"I'm sorry about that." Canada gestured apologetically after his brother had exited the room, sighing ruefully. "America's always been a little wild, too."

"No such thing as a tame America?" Veneziano echoed with an amused smile.

"Something like that." Canada allowed with a grin of his own.

The conversation returned to vacation plans. Veneziano expressed an interest in snowmobiling, which led to a discussion on dogsledding, and Germany wanted to visit some of museums and the natural sights of Canada, and since Romano wanted to do something _warm_, a visit to the hot springs was decided on. In short order, Germany and Canada had hashed out an entirely new and eventful itinerary. So eventful, in fact, that Canada wasn't entirely sure they'd be able to fit everything in during the slightly less than three weeks left of the European nations' vacation. That was okay though, because as Veneziano said, that just meant they could come back another time and do anything they'd missed (a thought which, though he tried not to be obvious about it, thrilled Canada to no end).

Canada also tentatively extended an invitation for the three to stay with him instead of at the hotel for the duration of their visit. Since this also meant they'd be staying with America, he hadn't held out much hope that they'd accept; but Germany had seen the room service bill when he and North Italy had returned to the hotel to pick up their skates after the festival, and saw the benefits staying with Canada would have on their budget, and accepted. North and South Italy had no objections and accepted as well, although their decision was influenced by the quality of food, wine and comfort that Canada's house provided in comparison to their hotel (and the company, although Romano wouldn't have admitted it except under pain of...well, pain).

Shortly after that America returned, fully clothed, Kumajiro padding silently at his heels. "Sorry, I was brushing Kumajiro and lost track of time. What'd I miss?"

"I've invited them to stay with us for the rest of their vacation," Canada informed him, smiling, "and they've agreed."

"Really?" America asked, grinning, excited and hopeful, wondering if his brother was pulling his leg.

"Really." Canada matched his grin.

"Wahoo!" America cheered, punching the air. "That's awesome! This is going to be so much fun! How long are they staying?"

"Three weeks, give or take. Make sure you behave, eh?" Canada held out his copy of the list of planned activities. "This is what we've got planned, check it over and see if there's anything you think we should add?"

America took the list, leaning against his brother's chair as he perused it. "This looks pretty good. There's a rodeo in Alberta in a couple weeks, if you guys are interested, but it's not a must-see. I'll be there, but I'll just be roping and hazing, since I promised Canada I won't ride in his rodeos." He handed the paper back to Canada and sat down on the arm of his chair, ruffling his brother's hair.

"You know why I don't want you in my rodeos." Canada batted his hand away and pulled a face.

"'Cause you're an uptight worrywart?"

"I agree with Canada." Kumajiro piped up from where he leaned on America's leg. "You should stay out of rodeos."

America snorted, nudging him with his knee. "Traitor."

"He's my bear." Canada reminded him smugly.

Veneziano exchanged glances with his brother and boyfriend, before asking, "A rodeo, ve~? Like, with cowboys?"

"Can't have a rodeo without cowboys." America nodded, resting his arm across Canada's shoulders. "And bulls, and broncos, all that stuff."

"So you'll be wearing the..." Germany gestured vaguely, brows furrowed in thought. "And, the..."

America's own brows furrowed in confusion as he attempted to decipher the gestures.

"He usually wears his old stetson and boots and chaps." Canada, who'd spent more time with France, explained. "Lots of leather."

"I don't usually wear chaps while I'm roping." America corrected confusedly, slightly baffled by the interest in what he considered the least important aspect of rodeo over the more active events that were, in his opinion, the highlight of the shows. Then again, Europeans were weird about clothes. And Canada could be downright French at times. "And I have a buckle?" He offered, hoping that would be somehow relevant to their interests.

"He does." Canada nodded, grinning, and looked up at his brother. "You could probably wear the chaps while you roped, eh? As a handicap?"

"I guess." America shrugged, giving up. "I usually just wear them for bucking and wrestling, though."

"It sounds very interesting, America. We'd love to come." Veneziano beamed, lifting his wine glass.

"Mmh." Germany nodded, swallowing hard. "I'm sure we can fit it into our schedule."

Romano rolled his eyes, but said nothing, choosing instead to watch the bear resting against America's leg; pretending he wasn't listening intently to the conversation and that the heat in his cheeks was due to the wine he'd been drinking.

Kumajiro, noticing his gaze, left his spot near the North American brothers and waddled over to South Italy, crawling into the couch and insinuating himself onto his lap.

"W-wh-"

"You haven't had the chance to pet me yet." Kumajiro explained as he settled down, laying his head against Romano's stomach.

"W-who says I want to pet you, stupid bear?" Romano bluffed with no hand and no draw, betrayed by his blush and the twitch of his fingers as they itched to ruffle thick white fur.

The miniature bear looked up at him with soft brown eyes, pawing gently at the Italian's arm. "You don't want to pet me?" He asked sadly.

Bluff called, Romano folded instantly. "W-well, I suppose I could pet you for a little bit." Blush deepening, he wrapped an arm around the tiny body in his lap, setting down his glass to stroke the fuzzy head with his other hand. "I-if you really want me to."

Kumajiro nuzzled into him, ensuring that South Italy would hog himself a bear for the evening.

Veneziano lowered the camera, deeply thankful that his brother hadn't noticed the flash, being too absorbed in the bear. He handed it off to Germany to hide, and the other nation slid it into his pocket, before turning to Canada.

"You said earlier that there's no such thing as a tame bear. Does that apply to this one, as well? Is he not a pet?"

The North American brothers glanced at each other.

"...Kumajiro's... not exactly a pet."

"He's not?" North Italy wondered, curiousity peaked. "Then what is he?"

"He's..." The brothers exchanged another glance, then turned in unison to regard the bear curled up in South Italy's lap, heads canting as they considered their answer.

"I...suppose you could call him a...totem, maybe?" Canada offered hesitantly, one side of his mouth pulling back unsurely.

"Ehhhh..." America's lips thinned, dissatisfied with that term.

"Is that similar to the 'animal familiar' common to western folklore?" Germany queried, unfamiliar with the term.

"Not...exactly." Canada shook his head. "It's...hard to describe."

"Totem can mean a lot of things, though." America argued, addressing his brother. "If you're going to say he's a totem, you might as well say he's 'medicine', or 'anima', or something. It's," He gestured, frustrated. "close, but..."

"Well what would you say he is, then?" Canada retorted, vexed. "It's not like you're coming up with anything."

"He's...Kumajiro's..." America frowned, and he waved his hands around as he searched for words to explain. He exhaled, and shrugged. "Kumajiro's...Kumajiro."

"Thanks Al, that's so very helpful." Canada huffed, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. "That really clears things up, doesn't it."

"Fuck you too."

Canada stuck out his tongue.

"How did you come into possession of Kumajiro?" Germany asked, interrupting the impending sibling squabble. "Perhaps that might illuminate matters."

"Oh, oh, that's a great story!" America brightened excitedly. "Mind if I tell it, Canada?"

"I don't mind." Canada shrugged, smiling, and warned the others. "It's a long story, though."

"It's a really great story, though." America assured them. "Totally worth it."

"I like stories." Veneziano encouraged. "Tell us the story, America!"

"Okay, but first lemme get some coffee, this'll take a while." He settled himself on the floor across the coffeetable from them, and poured some coffee from the carafe into an empty wineglass (which made the Italians wince, but Canada was used to it). "You guys'll wanna get comfortable, too."

Once everyone was settled in, and Canada had turned off the lights (at America's insistence) leaving the fire as the only source of illumination to 'set the mood', as America said, the story began.

"Now, this happened a long, long time ago; just a few decades after Canada and I had first awoken, and a while before we had any real colonies. We-"

"You remember having..." Germany interrupted to gesture, brows furrowing, "come into existence?"

Canada and America glanced at each other. "Well, yeah. Sort of. Waking up, anyway." America confirmed, matter-of-factly. "Don't you?"

"You're interrupting the story, Germany." Veneziano protested. "I want to hear how Canada got his bear, ve~."

"Ah, yes. Sorry." Germany apologized, filing away his questions for later. "Please continue."

"No problem." America shrugged a shoulder amiably. "So anyway; we were very young. Teeny lil critters, about yea high. Still babies, really. I couldn't tell you exactly where we were when it started, but... it was probably up along the Alaska-Yukon border."

* * *

_It was winter, and there was no sun. The brothers did not know how long they'd walked in darkness; only that it was darkness without end. The sun did not rise, nor the moon; no stars shone, no aurora danced in ribbons of light across the sky._

_Occasionally one or the other would raise their eyes to where they instinctively felt the horizon must be, subconsciously searching for sign of sun or moon, once-familiar celestial bodies which had long since passed from conscious memory, subsumed by the bitter cold and unnatural darkness._

_And unnatural it was. This was not the darkness of night or shadows, but a noisome darkness, almost tangible; not an absence of light, but the presence of darkness itself._

_And it watched them._

* * *

"Wait wait wait, what do you mean it _watched _you? The darkness? How does that even _work_?"

"Ve~, and wasn't it cold? If there wasn't any sunlight?"

"Yeah we were cold." America admitted readily. "We were freezing. It was _winter_. We were surrounded by snow and ice, and no sun. It was cold as hell."

"But, how did you live? What did you _eat_?"

"And how did you know the darkness was '_watching'_ you, dammit?"

"We survived." America shrugged. "We were together, and that helped. We dug holes in the snow to sleep in and ate whatever we could get our hands on, but mostly we starved." He reached back and took Canada's hand, and Canada squeezed back, smiling softly. "We probably should have died, but some things happened. That's another story, though."

"What were you doing up there all alone?"

"And what about the darkness, bastard?"

"Well, the darkness will be explained in the story, so I don't wanna get ahead. But as to your other question... I don't know, really. Learning about ourselves, I guess. In those days we pretty much just went wherever our feet took us."

"Didn't you and your brother live with any of your people?" Germany was treated to a blank stare from the North American nations. "Were there no villages, towns, anything of that nature?"

"Oh." America and Canada exchanged another glance. "Well, I don't know how it was for you, but it wasn't like that for us." America shifted, and sighed, pouring more coffee into his glass, making both the Italians cringe again. "Well, this isn't going very well."

"Ve~, do you want me to get you a mug, America?" Veneziano offered hopefully.

"What? Nah, this is good, thanks." America hefted the glass with a smile.

"Maybe we should give them some backstory, America." Canada suggested. "It might explain some things, eh?" He turned to the others and smiled shyly. "We don't usually tell our stories to other nations. In fact, I think you're the first."

"You're right." America realized, "And Americans and Canadians usually know what we're talking about. Inside info, huh? My bad."

"Didn't you grow up with England and France?" Germany wondered. "You haven't told them this story?"

"Well, they've never been interested, eh?" Canada pointed out, shrugging. "They had their own things going on."

"Yeah, come to think of it, they never really asked us anything, have they?"

"Well, we were just colonies, Al. It didn't matter. And we were very young. They probably assumed we wouldn't remember in any case."

"I guess." America shrugged it off, and turned to the others. "Okay! So. I should explain some things." He sat back and ruffled his hair, trying to order his thoughts. "'Kay. I guess the first thing you should know is that for a long time, we didn't really have any colonies. Oh, we'd have a few here and there now and then, mostly along the outlying regions, coasts and stuff, but they always died off pretty quick, so they really didn't count. And they were usually too busy starving or being sick and scared and stuff to have much to do with us."

"We stayed with the natives sometimes, but they tended to be nomadic, basically. There were some villages here and there, but those moved alot, too. Uh..." He frowned, and rubbed his forehead.

"We didn't have much by way of a human population." Canada contributed, pouring himself another glass. "Mostly, we were vast stretches of wilderness. Still are, in some places."

"What he said." America pointed his thumb over his shoulder at his brother. "Me and Canada are what, about 9 million square miles, between us, right?"

"Closer to 18 and a half million kilometers, America. Mexico-"

"_Mexico_ can _suck my_- ow_!_" America rubbed his back where his brother had kicked him, frowning. "Not cool, Mattie."

"Get on with the story, Al."

"Oh right." He turned back to the others, counting off on his fingers. "Okay, to sum up: not many people, alot of wilderness, and we wandered alot. You know how it is, right? Every once in a while you gotta get around in your place, get your feet in your soil and keep an eye on things." The assorted nations nodded. They knew. "And of course we were pretty new then. After you've been around a while you just have to _be_, really; but back then we didn't know ourselves well, so it was kind of a..." He gestured vaguely, putting a hand on his abdomen. "gut feeling. Driving force. We _had_ to explore. At first we mostly stayed together, wandered around our mutual borders, but then later on we had to split. But at the time of this story, we were still together all the time. It was a while before we went our separate ways. Following so far? I know it's not a comprehensive explanation, but I think that covers the basics, right?"

"It's sufficient." Germany agreed. "If you don't mind, I have some questions I'd like to ask at a later date."

"No problem. Anyone else have any questions?"

"Ve~, what did you _eat_?"

"Well, at first we mostly ate whatever we could find. Berries and stuff. Sometimes people would give us stuff, especially when we stayed with a tribe for a while. And after a while we learned how to hunt." America explained. "Any more questions?"

"You're gonna explain the darkness thing, right?"

"Yep, that's in the story."

"I'm good, then."

"Alright. So, we...y'know, maybe I should just start over." America decided, shifting to sit cross-legged and straight-backed, and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "It was like this..."

* * *

_AN:_ _I apologize for the lack of coherency. I know I promised you guys a story, but I had no idea they would talk so much. _

_Just when you thought it was safe to read, you get hit in the face with headcanon! I think there'll probably be a lot of North American bros backstory in this fic, because although I'm hesitant to include headcanon in my regular fics, I think the nature of this one makes it 'okay' in my psyche._

_Although Cowboy!America will be showing up in a **lot** of my fics. Not least because the countries of Germany, Spain, and Italy (both halves) have a serious hard-on for the Old West and cowboys IRL. Also, because I am a cowboy by descent. Thanks dad._

_I'm also registered Native American (significantly so) and so that'll probably crop up here and there. _

_I was going to go into a lot of the history and making and general information of ice wine, because it's of interest to me, but this is a story, not a manual. Sometimes I get those two mixed up. _


	5. How Canada Got His Bear: Part 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Although, maybe if I marry Himaruya we can share! I bet we'd click. He likes to travel, I like to travel. He likes fanboying, I like fanboying. He's a xenophile, and so am I. We even both love history! That's a solid basis for a relationship, right? I'm sure gay marriages are legal in Japan, right? (no, no they aren't, oh well what'ryagonnado)**

**Okay, okay, seriously now. I don't own it, but I'll play in Mister Himaruya's sandbox as long as he doesn't mind. **

_Trying out a little bit of a different style. I wasn't going to post this yet, I wanted to wait until I'd written the whole story and post it then, but with work the way it is that's going to take a while, so I thought I'd give it to you a little at a time. I hope you don't mind if it's short._

_Most of your questions will probably be answered over the course of the story, and of course, there will be **prolific** author's notes at its conclusion._

_So...here's part 1 of How Canada Got His Bear!_

* * *

Once, there were two children. Brothers, twins; sons not of man, but of earth and sky and spirit, and all things that live.

The twins were very close, but though they were alike in many ways, they were not the same. The elder had been born under the sun, and his eyes were the colour of the sky when the sun was at its highest, and the strength of the sun was in him. The younger was born when the sun had set, as the moon began to rise; and his eyes were the colour of the dusk and the dawn, the twilight hours between night and day. The light of the moon was in him, cool and gentle, and the moon's subtle nature, also, for the moon had taught him-

Ah, but that is a story for another time. This is not the story of the birth of the brothers, nor how they came to be in the care of sister Sun and brother Moon; but of How the Twins Drove Back the Darkness.

Because the brothers were of the land, they walked upon it, and went where they would. Sometimes they stayed for a time in the villages of men, and the men would care for them, for to care for the brothers was to care for themselves; but more often they walked the land, for all the land was their home, and themselves.

It was at one such time that the brothers found themselves wandering farther north than they ever had before, near the Birthplace of the Winds, when Winter was at its fiercest. It was a time of hardship and suffering for all creatures, for though the brothers did not know it, it was not a natural Winter. As the weeks passed, days grew short, and the nights progressively longer, until one morning the sun did not rise, and day did not come.

Despite the bitter cold and the darkness the boys did not fear, for they had been told such things happened every year in the far north, and that the sun would return in time. What they did not know was that this was not the time nor the season, and they were not far enough north yet for more than a few days' worth of darkness in any case.

What they did notice, was that as time passed, the stars no longer shone, the moon did not show his face, and the Sky People no longer danced in ribbons of light to mark the passage between worlds. As the darkness grew the animals went into hiding, and then the men, until even the spirits disappeared, and the boys found themselves wandering alone in the endless fields of ice and snow the unnatural Winter had wrought upon the land.

Still the darkness grew, growing thicker and stronger and coiling upon the land, until there was no difference whether your eyes were closed, or opened. The third time the twins had awoken to this darkness, curled together in their snow den, and not been sure whether they had opened their eyes or not, the youngest spoke.

"Brother," He said, reaching for his brother's hand, "Are you awake?"

"I am." Said the elder, reaching back. "Are you?"

"Yes." He held tightly to the hand in his. "Don't let me go."

"I won't. You, either."

"Brother," Said the younger, hesitantly, "this is wrong."

The elder agreed. He was not afraid, neither was his brother. They had been taught not to fear the darkness, and would not have in any case, for the youngest was born in the darkness, and knew it as a child his mother; and the eldest carried his light within him, and feared nothing. But this was not the darkness they knew, that of night and shadow; there was a _wrongness_ about it that unsettled them. It was a swallowing darkness, filled with malice, thick and oily and noisome, smothering all it touched, and they felt it watching them. They were used to being watched, but something about the way the darkness watched them made them uneasy. The twins were too young to yet recognize hatred or resentment; but they knew hunger, and they recognized that the darkness hungered, ravenously; and that it was dangerous.

It was also growing stronger.

The brothers travelled on, over the frozen sea, not knowing where they went or why, but driven on by instinct. The darkness followed them, coiling around them, until they felt suffocated by it, and shuddered at the way it crawled over their skin, twining around their limbs like the tentacles of the devil-fish. Soon the youngest began to weaken, and stumble, clinging to his brother as they walked over the ice.

"Look, brother," The eldest exclaimed, carrying his brother across the ice, "there's a light!"

The youngest opened his eyes, peering into the surrounding darkness. Then he saw it- an orb of greenish light in the distance. It swayed slightly, like a lantern carried aloft. The brothers fixed their eyes upon it, relief and hope filling them. Light in the darkness! The first they had seen in what seemed so long, it had almost passed beyond memory.

As the light grew closer, though, the younger brother's relief turned quickly to uneasiness. He couldn't say why, but there was something about the light...

"Brother." He said, anxiously, "We mustn't go towards it."

"What? Why?" His brother asked, bewildered. "It's _light_, brother. Light in the darkness."

"We musn't." The younger repeated urgently, a premonition of danger rising strong within him, "We have to hide. We must not go towards that light."

The elder paused, holding his brother up. The light beckoned, and light had always been safe; he longed to go towards it, away from the darkness, but he trusted his brother. "Alright." He agreed, turning and crouching so his brother could climb onto his back. "Get on, and we'll go away."

He carried his brother away from the orb of light, across the ice in the opposite direction. But no matter how far they went, the light followed, growing ever and ever closer. The youngest looked behind them, peering at the light in the distance, and saw..._things_ in it, creatures of darkness and shadow, slithering across the ice or fluttering around the edges of the greenish light cast by the sphere. The light grew rapidly, and he saw that it _was_ a lantern of sorts, a ball of sickly green fire, held aloft by a tall, dark figure that was otherwise impossible to make out. He knew instinctively that the creatures were being driven on by the holder of the light, and that they were coming for him and for his brother.

And they were gaining.

It was then that he first tasted fear.

"Run, brother, you have to run." He cried, throwing his arms around his brother's neck, clinging to him tightly. "We can't let it get us."

Confused, but trusting his brother, the elder twin began to run as best he could across the ice. Due to his strength the snow that lay thick upon the ice posed no problem, though it rose above his waist, and his brother's weight was as nothing to him. They were still very young, though, and his legs were far too short to cover much ground, and so their pursuers steadily gained despite their efforts.

"Run, you have to run! RUN!" Screamed the youngest, for he could see now what pursued them. He turned and screwed his eyes tightly shut, as if he could unsee what lay behind. "_RUN!"_

The elder didn't reply, saving his breath to focus on running. His tiny legs pistoned through the snow. The ice slashed into his feet, but he ignored the pain and _ran_, as fast and as far as he could.

On and on, they didn't know for how long, until his leg caught on something under the snow and they fell, sliding over the ice. The eldest lay panting in the snow, and the younger stood, looking anxiously around them.

"Is, is it gone?" The eldest asked, panting.

"I...don't see it." The younger replied, peering sightlessly into the surrounding darkness. The light was nowhere to be seen. Had they outrun it? "I think it's gone."

"Good." Gasped the elder. "My, my feet hurt."

The youngest crouched next to him, taking his hand. "We have to go, brother. We can't stay here." The light was gone, but the premonition of danger was still strong.

"Let me rest for a moment." The elder begged. "My feet hurt."

"We have to go." Repeated the younger, urgently. "It isn't-" He stopped. There, in the darkness, he'd...had he imagined...?

"It isn't what?" His brother asked, struggling to his bleeding feet. "The light's gone, isn't it?"

"I..." The younger searched the darkness anxiously. He was almost _sure_ he'd seen a flash of light...dim, but travelling fast...beneath... His heart stopped. "IT'S UNDER THE ICE! _RU-"_ he screamed, and the snow erupted around them.

Both brothers screamed as figures heaved through the broken ice, slithering towards them from all directions. The ball of green fire burst through the freezing water, hovering in the air above them, lighting the creatures. "_Kushtaka!"_ The elder yelled, eyes widening in recognition, and his brother screamed again, latching onto him. Both had heard stories of the undead seal men, with the faces of drowned men and white, grasping arms, who hunted in the darkness, dragging their victims under the ice to tear them to pieces, or turn them into undead like themselves. The eldest twin spun around, searching for an escape for him and his brother, but everywhere he looked were gaping mouths under hair like seaweed, eyes like holes in dead men's skulls, arms that reached for them as the monsters slithered across the ice. Unearthly howls raised the hairs on their necks. There, the _keelut_:gaunt,naked, doglike devourers of men who lived under the water; and creatures he didn't recognize but seemed to be... sewn... together... from parts of...of... he shuddered, gorge rising, and turned away. A whirlwind sprang up from seemingly nowhere, the wind tearing at their clothes and hair, screaming in their ears, whipping the snow into the air. A voice came from all around them, howling on the wind in an endless chant, "_Bring them, bring them, bring them_."

Slick hands grasped at his legs and he screamed, kicking out, hearing bones snap and feeling cold hands slip lifelessly from his limbs. Lifting his brother over his shoulder he charged straight ahead, through the mass of beasts, striking out with fists and feet as he ran, trusting his brother to hold tightly to him. He crushed flesh and bone with every blow, hearing the unearthly screams of unholy creatures as he plunged onward, fighting for freedom from the horror around them, for escape into the darkness.

After a horrific eternity he broke through the circle into the darkness beyond, and fled. He made it no more than a few yards before his brother screamed, terrified and bloodcurdling, and was jerked from his arms. He turned, grasping blindly, and caught his brother around the waist, digging his feet into the ice and hauling with all his strength. His brother screamed, over and over, as monstrous hands tore at his hair and clothes and skin, wrenching his arms out of their sockets in effort to rip him from his elder brother's arms. "Don't let me go!" He shrieked, closing his eyes against the creatures, focusing on his brother's arms around his waist, "Don't let me go!"

"I won't!" His brother shouted, straining, "I won't let you go!" Groaning with effort, he began to slowly step backward, digging his heels into the ice as he went. At first there was no progress, but then, almost unbelievably, he began to move, dragging his brother and the mass of creatures holding onto him across the ice, away from the light. The voice on the wind howled in mindless fury, and he felt his own fury rise in response. "_Let my brother GO!_" He screamed into the wind.

The howling turned to mocking laughter, which swiftly morphed into song, a chant whose words he did not recognize, but which stirred dread within him. The light flashed, and expanded, and the creatures turned upon each other, writhing over and into one another like maggots, and the entire sickening mass undulated over the ice towards him and his brother, engulfing the monsters that held his brother fast. His eyes widened as the creatures merged into one, one massive, abhorrent monster, which took hold of his brother and _pulled_, dragging them both across the ice towards the source of the light. His heels dug furrows in the ice, and his heart pounded frantically. _He couldn't let it get them_. He screamed, summoning all his strength, pouring everything he had into the effort, and pulled back.

For a moment everything seemed to still, elder brother and the nightmare creature stuck at an impasse, neither moving, the terrified screams of the younger twin and the chanting voice falling silent; and then there was a sound- a ripping, tearing sound, an eerie wail, and the eldest twin tumbled backwards over the ice, his brother's body limp in his arms. He sprang to his feet and ran, holding his brother tight.

"_Brotherrrr!"_ Came an unearthly scream behind him, pleading, and his heart stopped. He _knew_ that voice. He spun, eyes wide. There, in the arms of the creature, lay his brother, staring back at him, wide-eyed and terrified. His gaze snapped down to the form of his brother in his arms, solid and warm and unmoving, and back to the form of his brother in the arms of the creature, pale and transparent and faintly glowing. "_Brother!_" Screamed the brother in the arms of the creature, reaching for him, "_Brother! Help me!"_

Demented laughter filled the air around them, cruel, victorious; and with an ear-shattering _crrrack! _the ice collapsed, plunging the light, the monster and the pleading form of his brother into the dark sea below.

Surrounded by darkness and silence once more, the elder brother stood in confusion. "Brother?" he quavered, hefting the limp form in his arms. "B-brother?" There was no answer. "Brother?" He pleaded, touching the other's face, unable to see in the darkness. His brothers eyes were open, staring, and he breathed, but shallowly, but there was no other response, nor movement. "Brother? Brother, answer me!" He dropped to his knees, holding his brother close. Trembling, he closed his eyes, and _concentrated_, searching for the bond that he and his twin shared. The fact that he had to search for it told him everything he needed to know. It should have been _there_, as close as his brother, easy as breathing. He could feel it, faint and far away, so very far, too far for him to tell where it came from. He broke down, bending over his brother's body, and wept.

* * *

_AN: I almost had to bump the rating of the story for this mini-story, but then I realised if I rearranged some of the elements and spread them out a bit I could avoid that. Not that I might not end up bumping the rating at some point **anyway**, but no reason to rush._


	6. Part 2: An Actual Bear Appears

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. **

_Unexpected events have cut into my writing time, but free-flow stories can be written anytime, anywhere._

* * *

A loud 'pop!' as one of the logs in the fireplace snapped made the nations start in surprise, effectively breaking the spell the story had cast over the group.

"Ve..." Veneziano removed his hands from over his mouth (where they'd migrated over the course of the tale) to ask, wide-eyed and worried, "was he okay? The younger brother?"

"No." America shook his head sadly. "He died. I never saw Canada again."

"Oh!" He gasped in dismay, covering his mouth again, and his face scrunched up as he started to cry. "Ve, ve, ve, ve-*hic* V-veee_eeee_~!_" _Veneziano bawled, throwing himself across the table into Canada's arms. "That's so saaad! I'm sorry you died, Canada! I'm so sorr-, sorr-, sorrrryyy!"

Germany sighed, glancing heavenward and taking a sip of his beer. He'd let Canada handle this. He was on vacation.

"Ehhh?" Canada, startled, patted Veneziano's shoulder a little awkwardly. "I-it's okay, Italy, I didn't die, eh? America's just teasing. I lived. See?"

"Ve, ve, ve, really?" Veneziano sobbed, pulling back to look Canada in the face, "You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

"D-don't be an idiot, Veneziano, of course he lived." Romano scolded a little uncertainly from his seat, and held the bear dozing on his stomach a bit tighter, turning to America. "Right, bastard?" He demanded anxiously.

America's throat worked as he struggled not to laugh. Covering his mouth with a hand, he looked away, trying to compose himself. Taking a slow, deep breath, he cleared his throat, lowering his hand to say carefully, "Yeah. Ca...Canada lived."

"There, you see?" Relieved, Romano turned to his brother. "He lived, idiot. You're so gullible, dammit. Now come over here and stop being stupid."

"Ve..." Veneziano scrubbed at his eyes, smiling at Canada in happy relief. "I'm glad you lived, Canada."

"Th-thanks." Canada blushed, embarrassed and touched and confused. "I, I'm sorry I made you worry, eh?"

"It's okay." Veneziano kissed his cheek and scooted off his lap. "I'm just glad you're okay!"

America snorted, and went into a coughing fit. Canada leaned over to whack him hard across the back of the head. "You're such an ass, Al."

"Hey, hey! I'm sorry!" America held up his hands in defense. "I didn't know he'd believe me! I mean, you're..." He gestured at Canada, indicating his apparent status among the living.

"Still, you shouldn't tease." Canada admonished. "You had him really worried."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry." He turned to the others, and smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry guys, I didn't mean to make you worry."

"I wasn't worried." Germany reassured him.

"Just get on with the story, bastard." Romano ordered, arms wrapped around the bear who was doubling as a security blanket during storytime. "You still haven't explained about the darkness, dammit."

"And I want to know how Canada lived!" Veneziano agreed, leaning against his brother's shoulder and draping his legs across Germany's lap.

"If you hadn't interrupted, we might have already found out." Germany pointed out, pulling off North Italy's boots off so they wouldn't dirty his trousers.

"_Shhhh!_"Both Italians hushed him, frowning. "We're trying to listen to the story!"

America smiled in sympathetic amusement at the German, who looked a little disgruntled for a second at the Italians' actions, but shrugged it off resignedly, dropping the boots beside the couch. "You wanna take this part, Mattie?" America asked, leaning back against his brother's leg and looking up at him. Canada blushed, but nodded.

"If you'd like. Is everyone settled in?" He asked, addressing his audience. The brothers nodded, and Germany lifted his beer in silent invitation to continue. "Alright." Canada said, smiling at his brother, whose head now rested against his knee. "Now, I wasn't exactly _there_ at this point, so I'll tell it to you as it was told to me after the fact, eh?" His eyes and voice grew distant, as if he was lost in memory, and he ran a hand absently through his brother's hair as he began his part of the tale. "So, alone on the ice in the darkness..."

* * *

Alone on the ice in the darkness, the young boy held the body of his brother. The bitter winter air froze the tears on his cheeks and lashes. He didn't know what to do, where to go. He had to find help for his brother, but where? From whom? Anyone he might have sought help from was gone, long since having fled the darkness; and anyway he wouldn't have been able to find his way in the absolute darkness surrounding, its creeping tendrils befuddling his senses, leaving him blind in all the ways that mattered.

He knew that his brother's body was still alive. The skin was warm, still, the heart beat, but slowly, and shallow breaths ghosted warm air upon his neck; though there were no further indications of life in the still, limp form.

It came to him that perhaps- and you must remember, he was very young, and knew little of the world and its ways- perhaps his brother was sleeping. Perhaps this was a new kind of sleep, akin to the hibernation of the trees and the bears and many other animals. Or perhaps his brother had learned to sleep like brother Moon, who lay like the dead now and then, no longer shining. And like brother Moon, if he waited long enough, his brother would awaken; open his twilight eyes and want to run and play once more. It was a foolish hope, and a vain one, and part of him knew this; but it was all he had.

Gathering the body of his brother in his arms, he set out to find a place for them to sleep. They could not sleep on the ice, where the snow was too dry to pack and drifted in the wind, and where the creatures and the green light might come for them once more. He needed to find a safe place, where his brother could sleep in peace until he might awaken.

As he walked, unable to see or hear with senses numbed by the unnatural darkness, feeling only the ice beneath his torn feet and the warmth of the body of his brother in his arms, he did something that perhaps, perhaps he should have been doing, all along.

He began to sing.

It began softly at first, wordless, and grew. He sang the song of the sun, and in his brother's place he sang the song of the moon. As he sang, a strange thing happened. A soft light surrounded him, and his senses cleared; the darkness around him receded, grew dim. Of this he took no notice, distraught over his brother. Still he walked, and still he sang. He sang of the unnatural darkness, of the strange green light, of the creatures that hunted, and of the fight for his brother's life. He sang of the brother in the arms of the creature, and the brother in his arms. As he sang of the state of his brother, his voice broke, and he wept.

It was then that he noticed he was no longer alone. Sister Sun walked beside him, as did brother Moon. His heart leapt to see them- they would be able to revive his brother! "Sun!" He cried. "Moon! Brother is hurt- please, help him!"

Sister Sun smiled sadly at him, tears shining as rays of sunlight on her cheeks, for she and brother Moon had wept with the elder brother as they listened to his song. "We cannot help you, little day. The darkness keeps us away. For many, many days we have tried to reach you in dreams, but the darkness has hidden you from even from our spirits. It is your song that has finally guided us to you, but there is little we can do."

"I don't understand." Said the elder. "I see you- aren't you here?"

"It is not our bodies that are here, little day." Spoke the Moon, his own tears shining silver. "It is but our spirits. Our bodies lie still in the Heavens, but for many long days our spirits have searched for you. If you had not sung our songs, we may never have found you."

The elder brother looked at them then, and noticed what he had not before- their forms were transparent, and they left no tracks in the snow where they tread. It was true what they said- it was their spirits which visited him, while their bodies lay elsewhere.

Something about their forms were familiar. His brother...the brother in the arms of the monster, had looked like this, too. Transparent, ephemeral. Had it been his brother's spirit, then, which had been taken from his brother's body? Could it be called back?

"Yes, little day; it is your brother's spirit which has been taken." Sun confirmed, knowing his thoughts. "Little twilight's spirit has been torn from him, but by whom we do not know."

Brother Moon knelt, and placed a softly glowing hand over the younger twin's face. The elder brother noticed that he could see his brother's features through the transparent hand of Moon. After a moment, Moon sighed, shaking his head. "I cannot call his spirit back to him." He said, standing. "It is hidden from me. I will not be able to help you, my children."

Sun stared into the darkness. "We do not know who has summoned this vile darkness, which covers the land in fear and despair, and keeps even the Sun and Moon at bay. Cursed they must be, to bring such things on this earth." Shaking her head, she turned to the twins. "You must find them, day. You must find them, recover your brother's spirit, and you _must_ defeat the Darkness. If you do not, it will continue to spread, until all things are darkness, and there is nowhere left to flee. It will consume the earth, my beloved. You must find who has done this, and stop it. We cannot help you."

The elder brother's spirits sank. It had seemed to him that sister Son and brother Moon knew _everything_. If they could not help him, who could?

"Do not despair, little day." Sun said, seeing his spirits fall. "We cannot help you; it is true. But there are those who can help you, and we will set you on the path to find them." She paused, turning her head in the way they had been travelling. "Ah." She said with some surprise. "One approaches who will be a great help to you indeed."

Moon stood likewise, frowning. "Help or hindrance, I wonder? He has always followed his own ways."

"The Darkness can be no boon to him." Sister Sun said. "He will no doubt wish it gone, as well."

The ground beneath them shook, and a low growl vibrated the air, so deep it was felt rather than heard. A few moments later a pale figure loomed out of the darkness, mountainous and white. The elder twin's eyes widened, and he tilted his head far, far back to stare up into the face which dwarfed his entire body. Dark eyes, brown as the deep forests and just as fathomless, stared back at him.

"Look brother, it's a bear!" He exclaimed, joyfully, forgetting his brother's state. "A pretty white bear, look!"

"I have come," growled the bear, in the same earth-shaking voice, "to find the one whose singing has disturbed my slumber."

"And what will you do with him when you find him, _Nanuq?_" Asked the Moon. The bear turned his gaze upon the spirit of the Moon.

"I will eat him." He rumbled. "I will rend the flesh from his bones and suck out the marrow."

"_Someone_ woke up cranky." Sun said under her breath.

"Silly bear!" The elder brother giggled.

"You would eat an innocent child?" The Moon, stepping forward. "You will _not_-"

"I am not at the command of the Moon." The bear snarled, great lips curling back, exposing yellowing ivory teeth longer than the boy's arm. "One who _breaks taboo_ would _dare _judge me?"

The spirit of the Moon paled further, and stepped back, turning his face away.

Sister Sun lifted a shining hand. "Enough, both of you. This is not the time and place."

"What's 'taboo'?" The child wondered, shifting his brother in his arms. The bear and Sun ignored him, and Moon would not meet his eyes.

"Have you not noticed this unnatural darkness, Nanuq?" Sun asked. "Has your sleep blinded you to the sickness which threatens even your existance?"

"It has not." He admitted. "Why do you think I slept? My kind is not known for the winter sleep, as other bears."  
"You know, then, who has done this?" Sun asked.

"Sedna Beneath the Sea." Nanuq answered, pawing the earth below his feet. "This is the Darkness of Sedna the Bitter, that is all I know."

"Sedna?" Sun repeated, disbelieving. "Sedna has done this? Why?"

"The ways of humans have long since escaped me." Nanuq replied disinterestedly. "Much less the ways of humans turned immortal. You and the taboo breaker would understand the motives of your own kind far more than I. I grow bored of this." He snapped, baring his teeth once more. "Give me the child, that I may eat him and be on my way."

"When's the person who's going to help me fix my brother going to get here?" The eldest twin asked, likewise bored of the conversation.

"This is he." Sun smiled down at the boy, placing her hand on the head of the bear. "This is Nanuq, Lord of Bears, little one. He-" With a snarl, Nanuq spun, his jaws passing through Sun's spirit form and snapping together with a meaty crack. The spectre of sister Sun flickered for a moment, and the bear's eyes rolled in surprise, the whites flashing.

"Aha! He gloated, as her form grew stable once more. "You appear as spirits! Even you have not the strength to pierce the darkness!" He turned on the twins, confident now that Moon and Sun could not stop him.

"If you harm them neither Sun nor Moon will shine on you!" Sun cried, furious, halting his lunge.

"You _lie!_" He growled, tensing. "The sun must shine on all things! You cannot choose on whom!"

"I can." Sun drew herself up, imperiously. "I will turn my face from you, and Moon also. No sun will warm your days, no moon will light your hunt and show the paths of your prey. Darkness only will you know, darkness, now and always."

"You _bitch!" _Nanuq rumbled, shaking the earth beneath in his fury. "Even you cannot change the laws of nature!"

"Sun speaks true!" Moon interrupted, stepping forward once more. "If you harm these children, you will know only darkness!"

"I do not mean to be cruel, Nanuq." Sister Sun interjected, staving off his reply. "As long as this unnatural Darkness exists, brother Moon and I _cannot_ shine on this land, whether we will it or no. This darkness _must_ be lifted, or all things will die, mortal and immortal alike. These children are our best hope for making that happen."

"What?" Said Moon.

"These children?" Nanuq repeated. "Bear shit."

"Bear shit!" the eldest twin giggled, and Moon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"These children." Sun insisted, ignoring this. "I ask that you take them safely to Angahkuq, Nanuq. Bring them safely to the sorceror, that is all I ask."

"And you will shine on me and mine?"

"I will." Sun affirmed.

"And Moon will shine on my hunting?"

Moon's lips thinned, and his jaw clenched, but at a nudge from his sister he answered. "I will."

"Then I will do as you ask." Nanuq agreed, and turned away, calling over his shoulder. "Come, child of earth, blessed of Moon and Sun. Bring the carcass of your brother and follow in my tracks."

The eldest twin looked uncertainly up at the ephemeral figures of Sun and Moon, who fell on their knees beside him.

"Trust not the bear." Moon whispered in his ear. "Trust not the sorceror. Promise nothing without hearing first the full terms. Hold fast to the connection you share," He placed a pale hand on the youngest twin's forehead. "it will keep his spirit connected to his body. Be strong, and shine."

"Remember what we have taught you." Sun whispered into his other ear. "Be brave even in the face of fear. Keep an open heart, it is your strength. And above all else, remember always that you carry light within you, and need never walk in darkness. I believe in you," She likewise lay a glowing hand on the youngest twin, "both of you. Be strong, and shine."

"I will." The eldest twin nodded, gathering his brother closer to him and following in the giant tracks left by Nanuq's massive bulk. "We're going to play with the bear, brother!" He whispered in his brother's ear. "I can't wait 'til you see him, he's so big!"

The celestial bodies watched him go, a tiny figure dwarfed in the wake of the mountainous form of the lord of bears as they disappeared into the thick darkness.

"You are too confident in his 'kindness', sister." Said Moon. "He cannot be trusted."

"I am confident in our foster children." Sun answered. "They will not be bested by such as he."

"So we must hope." Was Moon's reply, as they faded out of sight.

* * *

"So he could see in the darkness now? The older brother?" South Italy interrupted to ask. "You said it receded around him when he sang. So wasn't it gone? And why did the Sun and Moon call the twins 'day' and 'twilight'? They were baby nations, right? Didn't they have real names?"

"To answer your first question, the darkness wasn't gone, but it was...well, it was kind of like when you're driving in the fog and you turn on your headlights. You can't see much, but it clears up a few feet around you. And sister Sun and brother Moon called us 'day' and 'night' as sort of pet names, 'cause of our eyes and personalities." America explained, reaching up to grasp his brother's face in his hand, positioning it to the others could see it clearly. "See? Pretty violet eyes, like just after sunset or before sunrise." Canada blushed, batting his hand away in irritation, and America shifted to lean back against his brother's legs, unfazed. "But they actually called us 'Yan'kee'- which means day, and 'Xán'kee'- which is the a combination of the words for 'dusk' and 'dawn' in another dialect. Mattie just didn't want to say that 'cause then he'd have to explain what it meant and everything, and he's a lazy storyteller."

"Oh yeah?" Canada nudged him with a knee. "Do _you_ want to tell it then?"

"Nah, you're doin' fine." America answered, leaning his head back across his brother's knees. "Keep goin', I like the way you tell it. And keep pettin' me too, that felt nice."

Canada rolled his eyes, but complied, much to his brother's satisfaction. "Any more questions before we continue?" He asked the others.

"Is Nanuq Kumajiro?" North Italy asked curiously. "Is that how you got your pet bear?"

"Don't be an idiot, Veneziano." Romano answered, hugging the bear curled in his lap. "That was a _huge_ bear. This one's all tiny, look. Don't be stupid."

"I suppose your right." Veneziano smiled sheepishly. "Okay, no more questions!"

"Alright. Well, as it turned out, brother Moon was right about Nanuq..."

* * *

_AN: He was totally right about Nanuq. _


	7. Part 3: The Three Bears

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Thank God for fair use and Himaruya's grace, huh?**

_Some of you really enjoy the story the NA brothers are telling, but some of you are less thrilled. If you really don't like the bear story but prefer the main one, try checking back in 2 or 3 chapters. I'll be sure to title them so you can tell when things are 'back to normal'— insofar as that's possible in a free-flow fic._

_Man, if I ever write an original story it's going to be as long as _War and Peace_. I don't seem to know how to keep things brief!_

_For the rest of you, enjoy~_

* * *

For many long days, Nanuq lead the brothers through the darkness without stopping for rest. He was angry, and as they travelled, he grew angrier still. He was angry at the treatment of Sun and Moon. He was angry at the unnatural darkness, and the equally unnatural Winter that covered the land. He was angry because his people were dying, in their caves and in their sleep, and there was nothing he could do, and he had no faith in Sun and Moon's reassurances that the brat at his heels could do anything to alleviate the darkness and the winter. He was angry because he hungered, his belly gnawing inside him, hungrier than he had been in thousands of years, for though there had been long darkness and harsh winters before, and bears had died and prey had been scarce, there had never been a darkness or winter this unnatural, that drove all things into hiding or death. There was nothing in the land, neither human nor animal nor spirit, left for him to feed upon. And his hunger only grew, and his anger with it.

The blood of the elder child's torn feet which lay fresh in the snow with every step at the start of their journey had been tantalizing, and he'd switched places with the child shortly after leaving the watchful eyes of Sun and Moon, following behind and lapping up footprints of bloodladen snow. It hadn't been enough to satisfy, and had only caused his hunger to grow; hunger not only to fill his belly, but hunger for the power that tingled in the blood on his tongue, alive and envigorating, like a storm on the ocean. If there was so much power in just a few drops of blood in cursed snow, imagine how much there must be in the tiny body of the living child. And though the blood had ceased to stain the snow after a few days the memory of it was fresh in his mind, how it crackled with potent power on his tongue and set stars dancing behind his eyes, and sent his blood coursing through his body like living energy, and his hunger for it began to overshadow all else.

Surely, he told himself, with that power, he need not fear the cursed Darkness, nor Sun, nor Moon, nor even Sedna herself. He would kill the Sea Witch and _force_ the siblings to shine, and they could do nothing to stop him. He would drive Man from the land, and all creatures would be slaves of bearkind, for all eternity. And it would not be difficult to take— the brat was powerful, powerful beyond belief, but his form was that of a human child, tiny, weak and frail, smaller than even one of his paws. He did not even have fangs or claws or thick hide to protect him. Sun and Moon were fools, sending this defenseless little shit into the Darkness, to the sorceror Angahkuq, to Sedna, either of whom would easily overpower the infant and take that power for themselves. And when that happened, the Darkness would never end, and Sun and Moon's promises to him would not be kept. Why then should he let this opportunity pass? He would devour the useless brats, and take that power as his own.

His decision made, Nanuq spun, jaws gaping, intending to snap both brothers up in one mouthful. He was puzzled, therefore, when he found himself laying on his back, paws in the air, mouth empty and head spinning. He rolled onto his feet to try again, lunging for the small, pale forms, mouth agape; and this time found himself sprawled on his side, ribs aching and with the wind knocked out of him. A third attempt landed him on his back once more, the child's high-pitched shrieking ringing in his ears.

Except, he realized as his head stopped spinning, the little shit wasn't shrieking in fear, he was shrieking with _laughter._ The infuriating little brat was _laughing_ at him. He rolled his eyes to see the child watching him, giggling.

Fucking piece of _shit._

"You're _funny_."

"I'm going to eat you." He growled, struggling to his feet. "Gnaw your bones."

The child shrieked with laughter, and turned to run, looking back over his shoulder to see if Nanuq would follow. He was so small and his legs were so short that Nanuq didn't even have to give chase, he simply reached out a massive paw and swiped, striking the child a blow which sent him flying through the air to land a hundred feet away. Nanuq followed, confident that he'd succeeded this time; a blow like that would have shattered boulders. He was amazed, therefore, when the small bundle in the snow that he _assumed_ was dead child leapt to its feet when he drew close, unharmed, still holding his unconscious brother safe in his arms, and _still laughing_.

The next several hours were the most infuriating and frustrating of Nanuq's _life._ Time after time after time he attempted to devour, kill, or finally even just _maim_ the child, who seemed to think the whole thing was a hilarious game. By the end he collapsed in exhaustion, his legs unable to support his weight. He lay flat in the snow, body bruised and aching, gasping for air. The child didn't seem to understand his exhaustion, and tried several times to get him to get up and chase him again, walking up to where Nanuq lay and poking him, running away giggling, or calling him from a distance. Finally, though, he seemed to realize that the bear wasn't going to respond, and came to crouch next to his head, staring at him curiously.

"Don't you want to play anymore?"

Too tired to lift his head, Nanuq rolled an eye towards him. "What...are you...made of." He panted, still struggling for breath. The child seemed to give this some serious thought.

"Sun says brother and me are made of rainbows and sunshine." He offered. Nanuq gave this the consideration that it was due, which was none, and closed his eyes. After a while, the child spoke again. "I'm hungry."

Nanuq sighed. "Eat snow."

A little while later, the child spoke again. "Brother won't eat."

"He doesn't need to eat." Nanuq informed him, too tired to do anything but tell the truth in the hopes that the strange child would stop bothering him and let him _rest_. "The body of your brother is feeding off your energy. As long as you live, so will the spiritless shell you carry."

"Oh. He doesn't need to eat?"

"No."

"Okay."

Nanuq lifted his head. "It doesn't concern you that your sibling is draining your power?"

"He can if he wants." The child responded, between shoveling handfuls of snow into his mouth.

Nanuq stared at him. "Do you understand what that means, brat? You're losing _spiritual energy_. Your brother is _eating _your _life force_ to keep himself alive."

"That's okay." The child patted snow between his hands, and held it up. "Look! I made a rabbit!" He smiled, and stuffed it in his mouth.

"Your brother could feed from your energy from now until the stars grow dim," Nanuq continued slowly, "and he would still make no noticable dent in your power. Do you understand what _that_ means?"

Carefully patting more snow into another shape, elder twin looked at the brother curled in his lap, and up at the bear. "Brother doesn't have to eat snow."

"We should keep going." Nanuq attempted to stand, but his legs refused to hold him, and he collapsed back down in the snow. He had spent too much energy trying to kill the child, had gone too long without food. He struggled weakly for a moment, trying to rise, snarling when his body failed to respond to his demands and he sprawled gracelessly on his belly legs and head outstretched. The child watched him curiously.

"What's wrong with your legs?"

"Nothing_." _The bear growled, lip curling weakly. "I just...feel like laying down."

"Are you going to sleep?"

"Yes."

"Oh." The child nodded. "Then I will too." He stood, gathering his brother in his arms, and to Nanuq's consternation, came to burrow underneath the lord of bears, curling up under his armpit, pressed against his ribcage. Nanuq wished he had the energy to roll over and crush him, but had to admit it probably wouldn't do any good, anyway.

The child awoke before he did, and Nanuq awoke to small fingers playing with his nose.

"What the fuck are you doing, brat?"

"Your nose is funny." The boy informed him, prodding it. "It looks like old leather, and it's wet."

"Stop that."

The boy withdrew his hand, staring up at him. "Are we going to go, now?"

Nanuq didn't have to try to get up to know he still didn't have the energy to move. "I want to sleep."

"You slept a long time." The boy said. "Sun and Moon said we should hurry."

"Sun and Moon aren't here." The bear closed his eyes. "And I'm going to sleep."

He heard a sigh, and a short while later a small hand grasped the end of one of his paws, and _pulled_. His body slid across the snow. "What the _fuck?"_ He lifted his head, realising that the child was dragging him along behind him as he trudged through the snow.

"You're too big to carry." The child explained. "But if you're too tired to walk, I can pull you."

Nanuq gave up. "You're going in the wrong direction. Turn left."

The child dragged him tirelessly for days, carrying his brother in one arm and pulling the gargantuan bear behind him as he walked. He stopped once or twice a day for a few minutes, to shovel snow into his mouth, and a couple of times he stopped to sleep, curling up with his brother underneath Nanuq's armpit or under his chin. When he was awake he talked incessantly, to his brother, to Nanuq, about anything and everything. He told Nanuq about his brother, how he was gentle and quiet and noticed things, and liked to sleep "all the time, like Moon". He told stories about things they had done together, and creatures they had met in their travels, and their time with Sun and Moon, until Nanuq felt he knew the younger brother as well as the older, and the still form whose face he spent most of each day looking at, resting on the shoulder of his brother, grew to be less of an empty shell and gained an identity, and despite himself, as time passed he grew to care about them both.

One evening Nanuq directed him to a nearby cave, where they could rest and where his more supernatural senses, undulled by the Darkness, were telling him he could find something to eat. The cave was deep, a long tunnel (through which Nanuq's great size was a tight fit, but the elder brother managed to pull him through with little effort and only an uncomfortable sensation of having his skin pulled tight over his skull and being squeezed on the bear's part) ending in a wide den, in which even Nanuq could turn around comfortably. There he found the frozen bodies of two polar bear cubs, about three months old. It was common for polar bears to abandon their young when danger threatened, which inevitably meant death for the cubs. Nanuq ate them, as any bear would, and gave the small bearskins to the children to wear, to protect them from the bitter cold.

This was an unusual gift, as the essence of a bear resided in the skin. Both humans and bearkind at that time believed that it was the _skin_ of the bear that made him a bear; without his skin, the bear was simply a man. Therefore bears did not _gift _their skins, least of all the lord of bears. A human could kill a bear and take his skin, and the spirit of the bear would protect the one who wore it; but that was a gift to be won, through strength and valour and cunning. The lord of the bears alone had the right to gift skins, and in doing so he openly recognised the strength of the twins' spirit, and welcomed them into the brotherhood of bears.

The eldest was delighted with the gift, and assured Nanuq that the younger was, too, and wrapping the skins around himself and his brother he declared that they were bears, now, and spent some time cavorting around the floor of the cave, growling and pouncing on imaginary prey, before curling up with his brother against Nanuq to sleep.

From then on, Nanuq began to think of them as his cubs.

When they emerged from the cave the next day, the Darkess had grown worse, thickening and heavy, so that traveling through it was like pushing through deep water, against a slow current. It seemed to them they heard voices, too, or pehaps just one voice, hissing on the edge of their hearing, full of hate and malice and despair.

"The Sea Witch has grown stronger." Nanuq told the elder brother. "Doubtless she is using the spirit of your brother to strengthen her power. "

Hearing this, the elder brother became afraid for the spirit of his twin, held his brother close and called for him with all his might. As he did so he felt their connection strengthen, and the oppressive weight of the Darkness seemed to lift a little, and the voices on the edge of their hearing disappeared.

Nanuq was about to remark on this, when a different voice broke the silence.

"Well done," came a man's voice, "you have bought us time." Nanuq moved in front of the cubs, hackles raised, his rumbling growl vibrating the earth and air in warning, as a figure stepped out of the darkness and into their circle of dim light. He was human, or appeared to be to the child's eyes, and looked much like any other of the older men common to the tribes in this area. In other words, unremarkable, except for the fact that he was here when all other men had long since fled the Darkness, and showed no fear, either of the Darkness, or the massive form of Nanuq, Lord of Bears.

Angahkuq had come.

* * *

"Dun dun _dunnnn_." America intoned ominously.

"Shh_."_ Canada nudged his brother. "It wasn't like that."

"It's just the way you said it." America leaned his head back in his brother's lap to grin up at him. "All dramatic, like he's Darth Vader or somethin'."

"Well, do _you_ want to tell it, then?"

"Nothin's wrong with the way you tell it." America sat up, folding his legs, and reached for his coffee. "But sure, I can take over." He drained the cup and put it aside, wriggling a little to get comfortable. "Okay. Now the thing you need to know about Angahkuq, is that he was human..."

* * *

_AN: He's like Darth Vader or somethin'._

_Notice how Canada told the story mostly from Nanuq's p.o.v.?_

_I know it's been a long time since I updated for this fic. The main reason for that is because after I posted the last chapter of it, my cat decided I was paying too much attention to writing and not enough to her, and ran off with my notes when I wasn't looking. She does that sometimes; it's funny to watch her try to drag off the mouse or my cell phone. Unfortunately I kind of needed the notes, and I still haven't found where she hid them, which kind of sucks 'cause they had the outline and some very important research notes, but I've finally decided to stop looking for the thing and just push on through. I'd **hoped** to finish this story off in one installment, but it looks like it's going to run a bit longer. Some of you like the story, some of you aren't so thrilled with the supernatural aspect, but either way, hang with me, k? __I'll try and get it finished in four installments total (counting what's already posted). I might have to cut some things out._

_I like the bear story, but it'll be nice to get out of the structured format and back into free-flow. It's a lifesaver when I have writer's block!_


End file.
